


Continentfettered

by appositeNautilus



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-07-16
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2017-10-21 11:14:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 28
Words: 84,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/224566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/appositeNautilus/pseuds/appositeNautilus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four friends scattered to the winds attempt to shore up their relationship by playing a game together. All is not as it appears though, and mistrust means lines in the sand are soon carved into place. For them to make it out alive, they must overcome the distance that has grown between them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Preface Frustration Scrawls

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Hey.  
AN: Hey Barty, I know you're there.  
AN: Come on, don't tell me you've Forgotten you're Online again.  
CB: Oh hey ali!!!  
CB: What you up to babes???  
AN: Just Settling in actually.  
AN: Finally signed the Lease for the room. Americans can be Inordinately stuffy about this sort of thing.  
CB: What??? What took so long???  
AN: Oh, same old same old.  
AN: References, chasing Thereof. Negotiating deposits. Boring shit like that.  
CB: So youre all set up??? Thats great!!!  
AN: Well, Essentially. I still have to Enrol tomorrow.  
CB: Have you met any of your coursemates yet???  
AN: Not yet, no. An Invitation to some sort of Welcome Social has been Extended by the Post-Graduate Studies Administration. Probably will Pass it up.  
CB: Whys that???  
AN: Cashflow situation is rather less than Rosy at this particular Juncture.  
CB: -_-  
AN: Quite.  
AN: How is Egypt, anyway? It seems like Months since you last Indulged my Inquiries about all your crazy haps.  
CB: OMG you would not believe how hot it is right now!!! I have to have my ac on like 24/7 in the classroom its insane!!!  
AN: I will duly take your Word for it.  
AN: Are you Rocking the Effnik Garb in order to Ameliorate the Effects of Aforementioned Oppressive sunlight?  
CB: Heehee!!! ^o^ Sooo effnik!!!  
CB: Im actually wearing this gooorgeous hand-embroidered headscarf right now while im talking to you!!!  
AN: I know, Celeste.  
AN: How is Daryl?  
CB: Visiting family -_-  
AN: Oh? American or British?  
CB: American ^_^  
CB: Other coast to you though mores the pity!!!  
AN: Yeah, that is a shame. It's been years since we last Clapped eyes on each other what with one thing and Another.  
CB: Well what about me mister???  
AN: Well, obviously you as well, Barty.  
AN: Actually, that's one of the reasons why I wanted to get your Ear. I was talking to Whobes and one of his Customers told him about this Game they'd been working on.  
AN: Oh Bugger...  
CB: -_-# Ali why do you always have to capitalise that???  
CB: You always make me lose its so infuriating!!!  
AN: Sorry Celeste. It keeps happening.  
AN: I don't really think about the Upper case words. It just seems to come Naturally.  
CB: ...  
CB: Anyway what about this game???  
CB: Whobes mentioned something about it but i didnt have time to look properly...  
AN: Well, Whobes and I miss the Role-playing we all did Together. Remember that Aberrant campaign?  
CB: ^o^ How could i forget???  
AN: How indeed.  
AN: So yeah, Whobes was talking to this young Lady and she mentioned that this is like the most Immersive RPG ever or something. And it's a co-op.  
AN: Whobes and I thought it would be Awesome if we could get the old Gang back together for a bash.  
CB: What you and me and him and tina???  
CB: How would we manage the time difference???  
AN: I dunno. I'm sure we could Establish some sort of Compromise to everyone's agreement.  
CB: Itd have to be a weekend or something i cant stay up too late on a school night!!!  
AN: No problem. I wasn't Anticipating we play Tonight anyway. Burning the CDs alone takes like a whole day.  
CB: Burning the cds???  
AN: Yeah, Apparently the Game will only run off a CD for some reason.  
CB: -_-# Ali you did it agaaain!!!  
AN: Oh. Sorry.  
CB: Well ok...What do i have to do???  
AN: Whobes should've sent you a link. You can Initiate the Download from there. Then you just need to burn the Files to a couple of CDs.  
CB: Sounds easy enough!!! Ill get to it!!!  
AN: And would Tomorrow be an Acceptable Date for you?  
AN: Assuming this Download goes reasonably for you.  
CB: Yeah that should be great actually!!!  
AN: Wonderful. I Imagine I should go talk to Tina about it.  
CB: You dont sound so thrilled...  
AN: Well, no. You know how our Conversations tend to go.  
CB: Heehee!!! They can be pretty intense!!!  
CB: You know you both care about each other!!! I think you two just like being stubborn for the sake of it sometimes!!!  
AN: That is Baseless and Foolish Speculation. You should Probably go and Re-evaluate your Assessment of the Highly Complex and Nuanced Relationship Ms. Trappsen and I Cultivate.  
AN: With A Brick.  
AN: Sideways.  
CB: You even start sounding like each other when you get pissed off!!! ^_^  
AN: I'll leave you to your Brick. I wouldn't want to Interrupt what is Bound to be a Tender Moment.  
CB: O_O;;;  
CB: Give her my love!!!  
AN: Um, if the subject comes up I will be sure to pass that Sentiment along.  
AN: Talk to you Tomorrow.  
CB: Bye sweetie!!!

Your name is ALISTAIR NORTHANGER. You are a SCRIPTWRITER. Well, technically you're a SCRIPTWRITING STUDENT for now, but at the flashy HOLLYWOOD PARTIES you are sure you will eventually be invited to, you FULLY INTEND to introduce yourself by the former descriptor.

You have been working in VARIOUS PARTS of the world SAVING for this MASTERS course since you are of course an ARTS GRADUATE with few saleable skills besides teaching ENGLISH. This has gone FAIRLY WELL for you in all but you have been MISSING YOUR FRIENDS from back home somewhat. Of course, with one exception they have moved on as well, so visiting them would be rather OUT OF THE QUESTION given your current status as a PENNILESS STUDENT.

THE GAME, however, should go some way to SOLVING that problem. You're not exactly sure how, Whobes was kind of SPOTTY ON THE DETAILS, but he seemed CONFIDENT this was the game to play. So here you are.

Your Pesterchum handle is averseNotary, and you Pepper your speech as well as your online conversations with a Melange of Archaic and Modern Words, lending your Idiom a somewhat Pretentious tone.

You cast your mind back to the last game you all played together. You and your friends are all dedicated LARPers, or as dedicated as it's possible to be in the far-flung corners of the world to which you have dispersed. Personally what you have seen of American LARP thus far has inflamed your delicate sensibilities to the extent you had to go and scream and throw rocks at other larger rocks for a while. You cussed those rocks up bad.  
You were heavily involved in a festival-based LARP system called Hurricanoes, in which you played a race of dogmatic desert catpeople in a totally ironic, non-furry kind of way. Totally. Your favoured skills mostly involved summoning and empowering desert spirits and divine emissaries to ruin your enemies' collective shit. You were one of the most advanced Theosophologists in the system! ...Or at least you would've been had you not been so very paranoid of your enemies discovering your tremendous power. While your companions largely were content with displaying their own skills for all to see, you hid your light under a bushel. Which are difficult to find in the desert, so your commitment to doing so should serve only as testament to the magnitude of your reticence.

Hm. Whobes is pestering you. Probably wondering whether you've got everyone on side for The Game yet. You suppose you really ought to gird your loins and face up to contacting Tina. Whatever. You'll answer your best brofriend first.

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

JW: hey dude just about to head off to work.  
JW: sup?  
AN: Hey bro.  
AN: Well, I have come into complete and Uncontested possession of my own Accommodation.  
JW: awesome news!  
AN: Yes, isn't it just.  
JW: well i'd guess so man.  
JW: it being generally better to have a room than not.  
AN: I Concur.  
JW: you all set for college then? ;)  
AN: Don't call it that.  
AN: Just because I am up to my Outrageously Chic waistcoat in Americanisms it does not give you the License to Compound my Woes.  
JW: you could've studied back here...  
AN: That hardly would've been as Glamorous or Indicative of some Profound Destiny for Dramaturgical Immortality.  
JW: yeah because no famous scriptwriters have ever lived in london ever.  
JW: certainly none who could possibly lay a claim to Dramaturgical Immortality.  
AN: Your point is made, Whoberley.  
AN: Rather Inelegantly, but nonetheless.  
JW: elegance is for poetry.  
JW: sarcasm so thick you could slather it on a sandwich and call it peanut butter is for purging friends of their various prejudiced misapprehensions.  
AN: Your Preference for that Revolting muck is the only thing about you more Bewildering than your Attachment to that Hive of scum and Villainy you call a hometown.  
AN: I mean, have you Ever seriously Contemplated an Alternative?  
JW: step off bro.  
JW: london is awesome...  
JW: peanut butter rules...  
JW: end of story.  
AN: Whatever. This is Stupid.  
JW: yes.  
JW: so what did celeste say?  
AN: She is Assuredly Onboard for this Endeavour of yours.  
AN: She should be Available for our Initial Session tomorrow as hoped.  
AN: So how Exactly do we set up this Server again?  
JW: uh.  
JW: pass?  
JW: i think the game sort of...  
JW: takes care of that itself?  
AN: What.  
JW: well, i asked her about it and she just sort of told me that each player's computer acts as a server but it's all in the main software package and we basically shouldn't worry about it 'cos it runs itself.  
AN: Um. That's nice then I Suppose.  
AN: Who was this So-Called Woman anyway?  
JW: her name's jane.  
JW: just some customer.  
JW: she thought i was cute. ;)  
AN: Jane. Like you'd expect me to Believe you hooked up with a Woman Bearing as Pedestrian a name as Jane.  
JW: believe it or not.  
JW: i could go into more detail but you usually prefer me not to.  
AN: Man what is it with You and Womenfolk?  
AN: Is there Anyone who has as many Ladies engaged at some point on the Romantic rubric as you?  
AN: It's as if you've some sort of Governing Philosophy involving the Distribution of sexual Resources among as great a proportion of the Population as possible.  
JW: hardly.  
JW: love is free, yo.  
AN: And meaningless Erotic fumblings?  
JW: doubly so.  
AN: Unbelievable.  
JW: green isnt your colour bro.  
JW: oh yeah did you talk to tina?  
AN: Oh yeah.  
AN: I'll get round to That.  
JW: sooner rather than later would be good dude.  
AN: I know.  
AN: Can't you do it?  
JW: i told you man.  
JW: heading to work.  
AN: Now?  
AN: Man you must have just about the shittiest hours known to man or Beast.  
AN: I thought you would get more Influence over them now you're Assistant Manager.  
JW: ha.  
JW: ha.  
JW: ho.  
JW: pretty much i just get to mediate for the manager and all the little people with similarly shitty hours.  
AN: At least the Remuneration is more Substantial, right?  
JW: marginally.  
JW: anyway get to it man!  
AN: Fine.

jocularWordsmith [JW] is now an idle chum!

Your name is JAKE WHOBERLEY, though most people just call you WHOBES. You are a POET, although you supplement the proceeds you receive from your VOLUMES of FREESTYLE SOCIAL COMMENTARY by working in an upmarket TEASHOP. This works out in your favour somewhat as you're able to organise SLAM POETRY NIGHTS and PERFORMANCES in order to curry favour with other more established POETS and ARTISTS as well as make a few extra QUID ON THE SIDE.

You love being ACTIVE in the local ARTS COMMUNITY, which as you live in LONDON is probably the BEST IN THE WORLD. At least you're FAIRLY SURE it is. Man, London is so great it almost makes up for most of your friends UPPING STICKS and LEAVING the country. Sadface.  
Good thing you can find solace in the arms (and other parts of the ANATOMY) of your various and varied LADY FRIENDS, several of whom are also Londoners. Still, there's no adequate REPLACEMENT for the company of your BRO and also your GIRL-BROS; or at least, not until you heard of this SWEET-ASS GAME. It is going to be so INCREDIBLY SWEET-ASS. You are contemplating stocking up on insulin just to ward off the DIABETES you will inevitably CONTRACT from being in the merest vicinity of the SWEET-ASSEDNESS of this game.

Your Pesterchum handle is jocularWordsmith and you speak with an easy kind of informal loquacity, which tends to keep you and those around you feeling laid-back and amiable most of the time.

Anyway, you suppose you should stop waxing lyrical and step to work. Chatting to Ali has only made you later.


	2. The Twirl of the Auteur's Quill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet Tina, the Game is afoot, and I learn how to format without making people's eyes bleed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the state of the first chapter, folks, that was me desperately wrangling with html and losing. I appear to have tamed it for now. Hope this original adventure meets with approval, I've tried to emulate Hussnasty's style as much as possible while still retaining some original elements. Any requests for additions or posts highlighting any contradictions with established S___b canon would be most welcome.

averseNotary [AN] began pestering voraciousThespian [VT]

AN: Hey Trapps.  
VT: Alistair.  
AN: How's the Expat life going?  
VT: Land Of Milk And Unwarranted Privilege As Always.  
VT: Oh, And Fucking Tories As Well.  
AN: Oh yeah. Those Wankers.  
AN: You know, you weren't Obligated to go back and work at that Nimbiny-Pimbiny International School.  
AN: You could have Earned your Bread somewhere entirely Devoid of Smug Reactionary Arsewipes.  
VT: Where Else Am I Likely To Find A Gig Where I Can Devote As Much Time To Writing?  
VT: Also I Can't Really Turn Down That Kind Of Money.  
AN: You could be a Starving Artist like me.  
VT: Been There.  
VT: Done That.  
VT: What Can I Say.  
VT: This City Is My Home, I Can't Stay Away.  
VT: Although Obviously It Sucks That My Closest Friends Don't Live Here.  
AN: Agreed.  
VT: And You As Well I Suppose.  
AN: Oh come on that Shot was so Cheap and Poorly-Crafted it made China blush.  
AN: And Prior to you Descending into another one of your Fangirlish Fugues I was Referring to the Country not the Author.  
VT: No Need To Get Excited.  
VT: For Once Your Meaning Was Immediately Discernable And Not Buried Under Clumsily Sesquipedalian Prose In An Effort To Ameliorate Your Crippling Insecurities Over The Quality Of Your Work.  
AN: Hack.  
VT: Wimp.  
AN: OK stop.  
VT: What Is It.  
AN: I actually have a Missive from your 'Closest Friends'.  
AN: You know, the ones that haven't Cottoned to you being an Insufferable Boho Fairy.  
AN: For some Reason of their own, Defying all previous Established use of the word, they want to play this Game with you.  
VT: God Damn It Ali You Made Me Lose Again.  
AN: Suck it Up.  
VT: I Suppose You Would Like That.  
AN: Don't Flatter yourself, Princess.  
VT: You're A Pig.  
VT: What Game?  
AN: Whobes should have Linked you.  
VT: I Did Wonder What He Was Referring To.  
VT: He Was Unusually Oblique.  
AN: Well Basically he has no Fucking idea what he's doing either, so we're just going to Wing it.  
VT: Business As Usual Then.  
AN: Yep, looks Like.  
VT: Sounds As If It Should Be A Laugh.  
VT: Sign Me Up.  
AN: Um.  
AN: Actually all you are Required to do Currently is Download and Burn the files. We're playing Tomorrow, Whobes is Attempting to work out the finer points of our own personal Chronological Incompatibilities.  
VT: Oh.  
VT: Well I Shall Do That Then.  
AN: Good.  
VT: Yes.  
VT: ...  
VT: Was There Anything Else?  
AN: Was just Standing By in case your Ridiculous Contraption Failed to be Compatible with the Download.  
AN: Just like it is with Everything else Worthwhile ever.  
VT: Will You Get Over The Whole Apple Thing?  
AN: I'm not the one who needs to Come to Terms with Apple being an Utterly moronic Cult of empty-headed Cretins.  
VT: Well, It's Downloading Fine So You Can Fuck Off.  
AN: I Intend to.  
AN: I'll leave you to Interface with your Faceless iVerlords.  
VT: K Thx Bye

Well, that could hardly have been called fun. At least it's all set up now. You can get back to unpacking.  
Ah, Shaun of the Dead. One of your friends got you this poster before you left to start your globetrotting. It pretty much goes everywhere with you. It's a little cricket bat-wielding slice of fried gold from home.  
You brought the rest of your collection of movie posters as well. Unlike some of your friends, you actually pride yourself on your excellent taste in movies. Look, here's Corpse Bride. Man, Helena Bonham Carter was amazing in that. Probably because she's just amazing. You're glad you've managed to procure a single room instead of being forced to share with a roommate. Your Carter crush would likely not be understood by most.  
Oh man! You almost forgot you had this one. It's a Lord of the Rings poster: in French! You got it from the French side of your family. You like to put it up because it creates the illusion that you can speak French worth a damn, which you can't. It's also a pretty sweet poster.

Wow, all this unpacking and reminiscing is making you hungry. You should probably go and get some food in. You wonder what the local stores will have -- you've become accustomed to a fairly exotic diet during your travels. You should pick up some CD-Rs as well. What kind of game will only run off a CD these days? You tried using a disc imager and your computer starting smoking. Weird.  
Welp, time to split.

cleopatrasBard [CB] started pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

CB: so explain it to me again???  
JW: which bit?  
CB: All of them would be nice!!! but were kind of running out of time here...  
JW: ok well  
JW: have you opened the cruxtruder for her yet?  
CB: Is that the thing the big green log things come out of???  
JW: if that green log is a cruxite dowel then yes.  
JW: has she put it on the lathe?  
JW: looks a bit like a carpenter's bench.  
CB: Oh...  
CB: Oops!!!  
JW: did you put it on the alchemiter?  
CB: The big flat one???  
CB: Yes...  
CB: We've made a couple of perfectly generic objects...  
CB: Are they any good???  
JW: not really. how much more time do you have?  
CB: The countdowns at 5 minutes or so...  
JW: ok that's fine, you're doing ok.  
CB: So the green log thing goes on the bench???  
JW: yes, and you should give her the card to make her entrance item.  
CB: Her what???  
JW: don't really have time to check up on that for you. it seems pretty important though.  
CB: How many blue gems does it cost???  
JW: i'm pretty sure that's not a problem.  
CB: Oh thank god!!!  
JW: what did you do.  
CB: What makes you think i did something???  
JW: did you break her toilet?  
CB: Why would i do that???  
JW: dunno apparently that's a thing.  
JW: some people find it funny.  
CB: Do i look thirteen to you???  
CB: Ok shes making the thing now...  
CB: She says what about that ball thing that keeps shouting at her???  
JW: um...  
JW: throw something at it.  
CB: What???  
JW: that's what all the cool kids do, i hear.  
JW: you want to be a cool kid, don't you Celeste?  
JW: also something dead is best, apparently.  
CB: Like what???  
JW: i dunno use your head.  
JW: you can sort it out for her, if she's busy.  
JW: but you should do it soon. like now.  
CB: Ok sure!!!  
CB: I think ive found something!!!  
JW: what is it?  
CB: Its a gecko her cat was torturing outside...  
CB: Its pretty much dead... o_o  
JW: sounds fine...go for it.  
CB: Right!!!  
CB: I should probably concentrate!!!  
CB: That countdown is getting pretty low!!!  
JW: yeah, meteor death would totally suck.  
CB: Wait what???  
JW: um.

jocularWordsmith is now an idle chum!

CB: What the fuuuck...

Your name is CELESTE BARTON and aaahhh what the fuck you dont have time for this!!!

CB: Hey tina not wanting to alarm but...  
CB: Have you looked outside the window lately???  
VT: Can This Wait, Celeste?  
VT: I'm Trying To Twist Some Modicum Of Functionality Out Of This Damn Machine.  
CB: I think you should check something...  
VT: OK Sure.  
CB: ...  
VT: D:  
VT: There's A Meteor Coming!  
VT: Like A Really Big One!  
CB: How big???  
VT: I Don't Know How Big It Is I Didn't Fucking Stop To Get Its Shoe Size!  
VT: What Do I Do?  
CB: I dont know!!!  
CB: But whobes knew about it...  
CB: I think its to do with the game o_O  
VT: What The Fuck Kind Of Game Obliterates Your Entire Fucking City With Rocks From Space?  
CB: Look tina we have to keep our heads ok???  
VT: Easy For You To Say  
VT: My Parents Are Out There!  
VT: I Don't Want To Play Any More...  
CB: You have to!!!  
CB: Whobes said the meteor was something to do with the countdown!!!  
CB: Making the crux thingy must fix it somehow!!!  
VT: How? How Can That Possibly Help?  
VT: And Why The Fuck Is My Shout Ball Now A Shout Maimed-Tokai-Head?  
CB: That was whobes idea...  
VT: If I Survive This I Shall Be Having Stern Words With That Boy.  
CB: You are going to survive this!!!  
CB: Now put that cruxite log on the thingy in your living room again and do some alchemy!!!  
VT: Were You Internally Using The Teacher Voice Just Then?  
CB: Yes >_>  
CB: Which does not detract in any way from the importance of the message!!!  
CB: In fact it makes it like double important!!!  
VT: Well, If It's Double Important I Suppose I Should Suspend My Concern For My Parents, Friends and Everyone Else In My Hometown And Play This Stupid Game.  
VT: Goddammit How Do I Work This Stupid Machine!  
VT: If I Die Because This Game Is Too Fucking Complicated To Understand I Am Going To Haunt The Fuck Out Of Whatever Bastard Developer Is Responsible.  
CB: Try putting the log on the little plinth again!!!  
VT: Oh Yeah.  
VT: Also Props For Using The Word Plinth In Everyday Conversation.  
VT: Although There Is No Element Of This Conversation Which Can Accurately Be Described As Everyday.  
VT: OK, Something's Happening.  
VT: Wait.  
VT: What.  
CB: o_O Was that tuxedo mask???  
VT: He Wasn't Wearing A Mask.  
VT: Also What Is It With You And That Anime?  
CB: Um can we discuss it when you have more than a minute to live???  
VT: Well What Do I Do Now?  
CB: At a guess put the ring on???  
VT: Seriously?  
CB: Tina please do it now!!!  
CB: Hurry!!!  
VT: Ugh.  
VT: This Is So Stupid.

Your name is VALENTINA TRAPPSEN, and you are already fed up of this game's bullshit.

You are kind of a FEROCIOUS HIPPY ARTIST, although mainly you WRITE STORIES based on your experiences travelling and living in the various places you have called home or passed through. That is, when you're not writing PUNCHY RADICAL SPECULATIVE FICTION incorporating themes pertinent to your interests: mainly WORLD-BUILDING, LANGUAGE, SEXUALITY and MYTHOLOGY. Especially FAIRYTALES. You have NO STRONG FEELINGS one way or the other about the EXISTENCE OF FAIRIES although you privately think it would be FUCKING AWESOME to meet one.

When you are not writing you can often be found BAKING, KNITTING, PAINTING or ACTING. You consider yourself a DAB HAND with a pair of needles, although you would scarcely think of equipping them or anything else to your Strife portfolio. You may be kind of ferocious, but you're an artist, not a fighter.

You have been STRONGARMED into playing this GAME although you much prefer LARPING to computer games, which you regard as almost universally MISOGYNIST. So far you have seen little to alter your opinion. Nevertheless you have accepted the CRUXITE RING and entered THE LAND OF CLIFFS AND FROGS.

Your Pesterchum handle is voraciousThespian and Like Your Speech, Your Text Tends To Be Well-Enunciated And Emphatic.

VT: What The Fuck Just Happened...  
VT: Hello?  
VT: Celeste Please Don't Flake Out On Me.  
VT: I Need You.  
CB: ...Um i just realised something...  
CB: Has your meteor gone???  
VT: Everything Has Gone.  
VT: My Street Has Gone. The Compound Wall Has Gone. Most Of The Ground Has Gone.  
VT: The Sky Hasn't Gone.  
VT: In Fact There's A Whole Lot More Sky Now The Ground's Fucked Off.  
VT: Kind Of Cloudier Than It Ought To Be This Time Of Year Though.  
VT: Especially At Sea Level.  
CB: Um, ok...  
VT: Why, What's Up?  
CB: Well i have one too...  
VT: What?  
CB: I think i need to talk to whobes again...  
VT: OK. Good Luck!  
VT: Can You Find Out Where My Parents Are Please?  
VT: Also, Could You Ask Him About This Tokai-Ghost?  
VT: It Changed Shape And Now It Keeps Clicking At Me.  
VT: It's Kind Of Sinister.  
CB: Ok will try!!!  
VT: Thanks Babe. XX  
CB: Are you going to be ok???  
VT: Yeah. Just A Bunch Of Frogs Around. I Think I Can Cope.

You decide to go up to your room. You have escaped flaming meteor death, true, but what about everyone else? You're not sure you really want to know right now. You feel like chilling out and getting your bearings might be a better option.

OK, so your bedroom window now gives you a lovely close-up view of a cliff face. That's OK. You'll just curl up on your bed with the Dalek you were knitting and listen to your favourite cool gay Thai electro-punk gay band. They're gay.

Oh...hey Tess.  
She still has a little fleck of tokai blood smeared on her nose, just about the inexplicable Hitler-moustache she has. At least her presence is keeping that creepy Tokai-Ghost away. Good cat. Best friend.  
You'll just rest your eyes for a moment. That's all. It's been a long, long day. And it's dark out there. So dark. That sky was completely black. It was glorious. You can't remember the last time you saw such an unpolluted sky. You wonder where the stars went. But not for long. Only dreams now.


	3. Outrageous Glamrock Shenanigans

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Celeste enters and monkey puns are largely avoided at staggering personal cost to the author.

cleopatrasBard [CB] began pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

CB: Whobes???  
CB: Are you there???  
CB: Whobes seriously this is a really terrible time to be leaving a girl on tenterhooks!!!  
CB: There is a giant meteor heading straight for me and another one just nearly killed tina!!!  
CB: What is going on???  
CB: Oh for gods sake!!!

 

cleopatrasBard [CB] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

CB: Ali thank god youre online!!!  
AN: Hey Celeste.  
CB: This game is trying to kill us!!!  
AN: Huh?  
CB: Were being attacked by meteors and tinas been teleported to some weird froggy place and whobes isnt answering his messages!!!  
AN: Uh, I Basically understood Nothing of that.  
AN: You're talking about in the Game, right?  
CB: No!!!  
CB: Its actually happening!!!  
AN: You're going to have to slow down and Explain yourself in a more Articulate manner.  
CB: Look i dont have time to go into it much but this game is bad news and we need to stop playing it right now!!!  
AN: What were you Attempting to convey Concerning Tina?  
CB: She started playing the game and then tuxedo mask proposed to her and she put on the ring so that the meteor wouldnt kill her and now her house is on a cliff somewhere with an irate gecko ghost thing!!!  
CB: And i know how crazy that sounds and youre thinking of something dry and cutting to say but you can just keep it zipped for now and help me not get crushed by like a billion tons of flaming space rock with my name on it!!!  
AN: Fine.  
AN: Just be aware that it was an especially Excellent putdown and our lives are a little Poorer for not having been Graced by its presence even in Passing.  
CB: Oh my god can we please move past this and get to the part where you stop being a sceptical asshat and save your friends life???  
AN: Is this an Element of the Game you're Indulging?  
AN: Some kind of Roleplay Scenario?  
AN: It's pretty Cool if it is. I'm Impressed.  
CB: Will it make you any more cooperative if i say yes???  
AN: Can't hurt.  
CB: Then yes i am the fucking fairy witch princess of shangri-la!!!  
CB: I am way the fuck up in all of the magics magicks majiks and basically all of that shit -_-;;;  
AN: Is that Actually a Thing?  
CB: I dont fucking know im not in the game yet \\_/###  
CB: That was a hint by the way...  
AN: You know, I am Detecting a certain Eagerness on your part.  
AN: But do we Absolutely have to do it this very Moment?  
AN: It's Getting on Here.  
CB: Yes we dooo!!!  
AN: Fine. Jesus.  
AN: I shall explain to my Enrolment Officer the reason I am Sleep-Deprived and Incapable is because I was Indulging a grown woman in Playing her Magical Girl Anime Campalooza Game.  
CB: If i survive this we shall be having stern words you and i...  
AN: Alright, which CD do I Require?

 

You are now the needlessly sesquipedalian fellow.

You are currently playing the weirdest, most mind-bending game you have ever encountered in your life. And you played American McGee's Alice. So you guess this game somehow manipulates the laws of reality in order to allow you to manipulate an apartment on the other side of the goddamn planet? Wonderful. You wonder why exactly the technology no doubt necessary to facilitate this unprecedented level of player interaction is not being put to more useful purposes. You're fairly sure this would blow the roof off the construction industry at the very least.

Really, if it weren't for all the goddamn meteors you think this would probably be the most awesome thing to happen to mankind since the cravat.

 

AN: OK, the Artifact card is ready for you by the Totem Lathe.  
AN: What Precisely are you Looking for?  
AN: I'm Certain your remaining time could be Employed more Effectively.  
CB: There was a present i bought for my brother somewhere in here!!!  
CB: But it would be perfect for the ball thingy!!!  
AN: Must we really Tinker with that Weirdass thing?  
CB: Well you can do what you like when you get yours but having that thing screech incoherently at me for the whole game is not my idea of fun!!!  
AN: Can you at least Divulge what you are Searching for so that I may be of some use instead of watching you root around in that chest?  
CB: If you really want to help then get in touch with whobes!!!  
AN: Believe me when I say it is not for want of Trying that I am not at Present in contact with our Erstwhile comrade.  
AN: Need I remind you I too have a particular Meteorological Oddity with which I must Presently contend?  
AN: Wait.  
AN: That's what you were Wasting your time looking for?  
CB: Shut up!!!  
CB: Joe will love it!!!  
CB: Well i guess hell have to wait for me to get another one...  
CB: Actually no...  
CB: Better idea!!!  
AN: You're not going to try and Alchemise a Duplicate, are you?  
AN: Good god woman, your home is about to be Reduced to its Constituent atoms by Aggressive space debris and you're flapping over some ratty old Mummified monkey hand.  
CB: Aw nooo...  
AN: What?  
CB: It needs some different colour thingies to the ones we have...  
AN: Well, in the Meantime at least you can turn your Attentions to infusing your Shout Ball and not Dying.  
CB: Now whos eager???  
AN: Well Excuse me Princess.  
AN: Should I be more Blasé about our Imminent Obliteration?  
CB: Heehee!!!  
CB: Youve just given me a greaaat idea!!!  
AN: Can it wait?  
CB: Yeah I guess ill need more of those gems anyway...  
AN: OK, so what exactly must we Do with this Cruxite Artifact?  
CB: Is that what its called???  
AN: That's the Appellation my Interface has Conferred upon it.  
CB: Well i just need to take it to the alchemiter and set it in the totem scanny thing...  
CB: And then it should make me my very own tuxedo mask!!!  
AN: I'm sure Daryl will be Thrilled at the prospect of your being Engaged to a computer game Construct.  
AN: Does this mean that I will be Propositioned by that blonde bint on my own Entrance?  
CB: Maybe...  
CB: I dunno really >_>  
CB: But that would be fun dont you think???  
AN: I shall Elect not to Dignify that with a Response.  
CB: Heehee!!!  
CB: Here goes...  
CB: What???  
AN: That was a little bit of a Letdown, I'll Surmise.  
CB: You surmise correctly...  
CB: What am i supposed to do with a purple apple???  
AN: I'd Hazard the same thing one does with any Manner of Apple.  
AN: And given the Relative Shortness of time Available, I'd advise getting on with it.  
CB: Ok fine!!!

 

Your name is CELESTE BARTON, and you are about to embark on a STRANGE JOURNEY. Of course, in some ways you've been ready for this ALL YOUR LIFE. And yet, in many more it seems COMPLETELY SURREAL. You believe you have the HEART of an ADVENTURER, and have always LONGED to EXPLORE MAGICAL and UNCHARTERED LANDS.

So far you have had to settle for ASIA and now AFRICA, which are still PRETTY SWEET. But they're not like the PECULIAR PLACES you've visited in your GAMES, and in your DREAMS. Lands of MAGICAL GIRLS, PROUD DESERT NOMADS, ELVEN HEROES, GOLDEN CASTLES and DARK LORDS.

You moved to EGYPT with your FIANCE in order to INDULGE this borderline FETISHISTIC taste for the EXOTIC. You know you should SETTLE DOWN at some point. But ADDICTION is a powerful thing.

When you are not reading or playing FANTASY, you like to paint and sketch, or ROCK the WICKED JAMS on your guitar. You are kind of sort of known in FOLK CIRCLES for being part of a NEO-GLAM-FOLK ROCK DUET. That's on HIATUS while you're overseas though, so you're spending more time WRITING SONGS than practicing. You've always got a couple of CREATIVE PROJECTS on the go!

You're also a total PAGAN, although you're DEFINITELY NOT A WITCH. People who don't know the difference tend to GET ON YOUR NERVES.

Your Pesterchum handle is cleopatrasBard, and whether typing or talking, you tend to display extreeemes of emotion at all times!!!

And, of course, you are about to prototype your Kernelsprite and take a bite of your very own CRUXITE APPLE in order to enter THE LAND OF SKY AND LULL.

AN: Um.  
AN: Are you Capable of Responding?  
AN: You would not Believe what I am Bearing Witness to.  
AN: Your apartment is, uh...  
AN: Well, it's kind of on a flying Boat.  
AN: A Ship, really.  
AN: In truth, were I to be Pushed to Elaborate upon the Specific Appearance of this Particular ship I would have no other Recourse than to refer to it as Distinctly Piratey.  
AN: Celeste?  
CB: O...  
CB: M...  
CB: G!!!  
AN: Are you Alright?  
CB: Im on a boat!!! *_*  
AN: You are Certainly on a boat.  
CB: Im on a boat!!! *______________*  
AN: Quite. I am in the Process of rendering a good hard look at this Motherfucking vessel.  
CB: Aw you spoiled it...  
AN: Apologies.  
AN: Also, FYI:  
AN: Your Shout Ball has Morphed into a more Traditionally Spectral Apparition.  
CB: It keeps saying ook... o_O  
AN: It's a Mummified Monkey with a single, Severed hand.  
AN: I would Posit it has Plenty to 'Ook' about.  
CB: Well its bugging me!!!  
AN: Maybe you can Reset it by putting something Different in.  
CB: Like what???  
AN: I don't know. Something you find more Palatable than a dead Monkey to act as your Liaison.  
CB: Oh god...  
CB: I just had a great idea!!!  
AN: Another one.  
AN: Is this Related to the Previous one by any Chance?  
CB: Not really...  
CB: You'll understand when you see!!!

 

You run into your bedroom and reach for the figurine on your shelf. This is going to be so perfect. You've always kind of hoped this would happen, in that corner of your mind that kept its fingers crossed that maybe one day you would be lucky enough to embark on your own adventure.  
The MummymonkeySprite is lurking behind you, flailing its single, floating arm as you size it up. It appears to have some inkling of what is about to happen and seems rather agitated. But you have no time for its monkey business. Heh. Monkey. Here goes!!!

 

Spritelog:

DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Hey baby.  
CELESTE: ...Oh my god hiii!!!  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Um, what godawful affair are we in now then?  
CELESTE: It's you...well i guess youre kind of furrier than i imagined...  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: It's the freakiest show I've ever been part of.  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: And I killed myself during one of them.  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Well, not really.  
CELESTE: I have a question...  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Of course you do. Don't you fret, Celeste. I have all the answers you could possibly desire.  
CELESTE: Um its not really about anything like that...  
CELESTE: I was wondering if you could wear the goblin king costume???  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Ook. Well, I suppose I can.  
CELESTE: Did you just say ook???  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Just you shut your mouth.  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: Um. I can't really control the ooks.  
DAVID MONKIESPRITE: How does this look?  
CELESTE: *_____*  
CELESTE: Sooo cuuuteee!!!

 

AN: What have you Done.  
AN: This is some sort of Sacrilege, I am Fairly sure.  
AN: I know you're not Reading this. I just want it to be on Record that I gravely Disapprove of this abuse of one of our National treasures.  
AN: OK, now you're Forcing him to dress up. This is Demeaning.  
AN: And you are Demeaned for Embarking upon this Course.  
AN: And now I am Demeaned.  
CB: He loves it really!!!  
AN: Oh good, you're not Entirely Insensible to the voice of Reason in this Situation.  
AN: How do you know that? This entire Scenario is Unseemly and Uncomfortable.  
CB: Its the end of the world ali...  
CB: Im going to get my jollies how i can!!!  
AN: Whatever.  
AN: Enjoy your Weird Necro-Furry Cosplay times.  
AN: I'm going to try and Reestablish Communication with Whobes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, will be updating exclusively on AO3 now. Plenty more material where this came from, I've got quite the backlog to disgorge.
> 
> DavidBowie/Monkey/MummySprite. That's right. This shit just got at least 300% more real. You're sure Problem Sleuth would know the precise index of elevated reality.
> 
> Also given that this is my only fic currently on the site, is there anything I should be doing which I'm currently not? Am I correctly tagged and categorised? I would hate to mislead someone hoping for genderbent!Scratch/futaJadesprite vorefic. That would simply be terrible.


	4. Flight of the Magical Monkey Balls

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ali enters and makes a crucial error, Whobes is not all that he seems, and an inordinate amount of David Bowie references are made.

Spritelog:

CELESTE: Im going to call you jareth ok???  
JARETHSPRITE: Ook.  
JARETHSPRITE: I mean OK.  
CELESTE: Heehee!!!  
CELESTE: We should go outside and get the lay of the land!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: Excellent idea, Maid.  
CELESTE: Huh???  
JARETHSPRITE: Your role in this game. Your friends will take on their own mantles. Yours is the Maid of Void.  
CELESTE: Wow. Um, what does that mean?  
JARETHSPRITE: You'll learn in time. When you have prepared yourself for the knowledge it will be waiting for you.  
JARETHSPRITE: Celeste, it's dangerous to venture outside without protection. Please take a weapon of some sort with you.  
CELESTE: Good idea!!!  
CELESTE: I suppose there are going to be enemies in this game after all...

 

You have just the thing. It was a gift from your fiancé. He knew you wanted something to help you out with your offerings, but it was so gorgeous you couldn't ever bring yourself to use it until you had a proper shrine assembled, not this poor paltry little thing. Oh well.  
You equip the ATHAME to your bladeKind Strife Specibus and venture out onto your balcony, now overlooking the main deck of the ship.

You mean your ship. Oh god this is so sweet!!!

You kind of wish you knew more about boats so you could appreciate this more fully. But it definitely seems to be some sort of three-mast caravel, about thirty yards bow to stern, with a small battery of guns along the broadsides and a cargo capacity of about twenty-five additional tons. You kind of wish you knew what was keeping it in the air. Oh well. Best not to worry about it too much.  
The sky stretches out in all directions, boundless, clear and blue. Even beneath you there is no sign of any ground. The thought is a little staggering at first. What would happen if you fell?

JARETHSPRITE: You would fall forever.  
CELESTE: Really???  
JARETHSPRITE: Well, not ooksactly.  
JARETHSPRITE: There's a starman waiting in the core of the sky. The Denizen.  
CELESTE: Ok...  
CELESTE: Whats a denizen???  
JARETHSPRITE: The Denizen is a great and terrible force corrupted by the dark powers.  
JARETHSPRITE: It once held a great and shining light which brought warmth to the land and caused the wind to blow across the sky.  
JARETHSPRITE: But now it sleeps, guarding its treasure, and its divine light.  
CELESTE: So its down there???  
JARETHSPRITE: So it is said. Ook. Sitting like a man, smiling like a reptile.  
CELESTE: I should go down and wake it up then!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: No, don't blow it. It would not be worthwhile.  
JARETHSPRITE: You would lose. The Denizen is immensely powerful.  
CELESTE: Oh. What should I do then?  
JARETHSPRITE: There are smaller vessels you may use to explore this land and gather the treasure necessary to proceed further.  
CELESTE: Further?  
JARETHSPRITE: You can't stay strung out in heavens high forever.  
CELESTE: Where do i need to go???  
JARETHSPRITE: Up.  
JARETHSPRITE: There are other lands, pretty Maid. Through the Gates. Where the Seer sleeps. Where the Rogue and the Page will enter. You need to join with them before you can Ascend. Before you reach Skaia, and the Battlefield.  
CELESTE: What do you mean ascend???  
JARETHSPRITE: Well, now we're getting into the Ultimate Riddle.  
JARETHSPRITE: I really ought not to overburden yook with details right now.  
CELESTE: Please???  
CELESTE: I have no idea what im supposed to be doing here!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: I'm afraid I can't help it.  
CELESTE: ;_;  
JARETHSPRITE: It seems we should move this along.  
CELESTE: Why???  
JARETHSPRITE: The enemy forces are incoming.  
CELESTE: Whats that noise???  
JARETHSPRITE: A vessel used by the Dark Kingdom to bring their underlings to bear.  
JARETHSPRITE: What will you dook, Maid?  
CELESTE: I...  
CELESTE: I dont know!!!  
CELESTE: What should i do???  
JARETHSPRITE: If you say run, I'll run with you.  
JARETHSPRITE: If you say hide, we'll hide.  
CELESTE: Can i fight them???  
CELESTE: Can i beat them???  
JARETHSPRITE: Yes. Almost certainly. And I can help.  
CELESTE: Ok then!!!  
CELESTE: Lets take it to them!!!

 

You are now the wordy guy again.

You're starting to get seriously worried. There's a pretty damn substantial meteor shower bearing down on the city. You've already heard the resident tutors running up and down the corridors a couple of times trying to round up people for evacuation. Apparently there are shelters nearby, or something along those lines. You kept your head down though. Seems like your best chance of escaping this spacerock holocaust is on the other end of an IM window. If only he'd answer. What could possibly be taking him so long?  
You've been trying to get in touch with Tina as well, but she's apparently away from keyboard. You hope she's alright. If only because, if you understand the way this game works, she's the one who'll have to get Whobes in when he finally gets round to sorting out your problem.  
Until then, you're pretty much spinning your wheels.  
Oh wait. It seems like something is happening in Celeste's game.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Hey, what exactly is Happening here?  
CB: Incoming!!!  
CB: Can you lend a hand???  
AN: How Precisely would you have me Contribute?  
AN: All I'm Capable of doing with this Cursor is moving items around.  
CB: Maybe you could smack some baddies with things i dunno!!!  
CB: Do i have to think of everything???  
CB: Use your initiative!!!

 

This looks kind of bad, actually. That purple spaceship thing is a bit smaller than Barty's ship, but it does seem to be fairly humming with these mummified lizardy things. Who the fuck designed these enemies? Oh, there's a monkey as well. Because everything is better with monkeys, clearly.  
Jareth seems to be on it thOH MY FUCK WHAT THE GOD IS HE FIRING OUT OF HIS MONKEY CROTCH

 

AN: Oh My Fuck What The God Is He Firing Out Out Of His Monkey Crotch  
CB: His magic balls!!!  
AN: How did you Manage to make that sound Worse.  
CB: Havent you seen labyrinth???  
AN: Yes, but...  
AN: I don't Recall it being quite so...  
AN: Pelvic.  
CB: Sorry ali got to go...  
CB: Gluck with the smacking!!!  
AN: Um, Likewise I guess...

 

There she goes. Off to fight those Egyptian monkey-lizard things with that shitty little dagger. Well, better go save her arse.

 

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

JW: yo man.  
AN: Oh, what?  
AN: Can this wait?  
JW: not for long.  
AN: Barty's kind of Outnumbered here. I feel like I ought to be Providing support.  
JW: she'll be fine.  
JW: those imps are super-weak.  
JW: most of them don't even have specibi alloted.  
AN: Well, can I at least lob a Fridge at them?  
JW: a fridge? really?  
AN: I was in the Process of Picking it up when you Distracted me.  
JW: fine  
JW: knock yourself out.  
AN: Alright!  
JW: ...  
AN: Oh Man that was Sweet.  
AN: I got like three of the little Buggers.  
JW: props  
AN: Where the Hell have you Been, Anyway?  
AN: We've been Attempting to Contact you for ages.  
JW: checking some shit  
AN: What Kind of Shit?  
JW: important shit  
AN: Of Course. Care to Clarify?  
JW: uh  
JW: not really.  
AN: What the Hell, man?  
AN: It was your Damn idea we play this Game and there has been Nothing but Fucked up Shit as a Result.  
AN: I had to watch Planet of the Apes David Bowie fire Balls out of his Crotch.  
AN: Also Cairo and Bangkok have been Destroyed I guess.  
JW: you know la is next, right?  
AN: Oddly enough that Thought had Occurred to me.  
JW: i can't explain right now.  
JW: just trust me when i say there was important shit i had to do. please.  
AN: Ugh.  
AN: Just...  
AN: Fine.  
AN: So what do you Require of me?  
JW: i'm going to help you enter now.  
AN: It's about Time.  
JW: heh.  
AN: What?  
JW: you're absolutely right.  
AN: ...  
AN: Whatever.

 

You have, safe in the knowledge that she has her furry monstrosity of a bodyguard at her back, elected to leave Barty to the task of stabbing up some bad guy posterior. You're sure she can handle it. She's already galloped up the Echeladder, whatever that is, from the humble rank of Greensleeves Greenhorn to the somewhat less shameful title of Tri-chorder. You suppose it must be analogous to some sort of level system. Cute. She's also gorged her Ceramic Porkhollow on a few hundred Boondollars. Which would be great news, you're sure, if you or she had found any pertinent use in the slightest for them. Well, as long as they're making some porcine gaming abstraction happy you suppose that's all that matters. Animal welfare is everyone's business.

Whobes seems kind of distracted, if you're honest. Well, not distracted. He's certainly been concentrating on helping you enter the Medium, as he calls it, but he seems kind of...distant. You imagine it's likely the knowledge that his beloved hometown is soon to be nothing more than a smoking crater. That sort of thing would probably put a crimp in anyone's day. Times like this you're glad you hail from a post-industrial slurry pit the likes of which could only be improved by a trillion tonnes of malevolent alien granite. Shame about Los Angeles though. You were looking forward to studying here. Oh well.

 

AN: How are we Managing for Grist?  
JW: we're fine. i told you, the amount you're allocated at the start of the game increases exponentially the further down the player chain you are.  
AN: Why's that?  
JW: i guess to compensate for time lost and the progressively harder bad guys you'll face.  
AN: Huh? That's bullshit. Why do I have to face Tougher foes than Barty?  
JW: we all will once the chain is complete.  
JW: but in theory the earlier players in the chain will be better prepared for it having levelled against their underlings before.  
JW: and the later players will be able to alchemise more gear initially to compensate.  
AN: Wait, we can Alchemise Equipment?  
JW: what did you think the alchemiter was for?  
AN: Entering the Medium?  
JW: yes. but also you can combine punched captcha cards to make new items that help you progress in your land.  
AN: What, like Armaments?  
JW: for instance.  
AN: Sweet!  
JW: yeah i guess.  
AN: Is that what the Designix thingie is for?  
JW: yep.  
JW: we should focus on getting you in for now though.  
JW: since we've only got build grist at the moment.  
AN: Barty's bad guys appeared to be Yielding purple and black grist when they were Vanquished.  
JW: they'll do that, yeah.  
JW: all the more reason to get you in the game.  
AN: OK, sure. I'm Onboard with this.  
AN: Let's get this shit Locked Down.  
JW: ok. next on the agenda is prototyping your kernelsprite.  
AN: That's the blue Shout Ball that popped out of my Cruxtruder, correct?  
JW: correct.  
AN: And I Chuck something Deceased into it?  
JW: yes.  
AN: That might be an Issue.  
JW: why?  
AN: I've only just Moved in. I don't really have an Awful lot in the way of dead things to Hand.  
JW: you don't have to use a dead thing.  
JW: it just means you'll have to work harder at tagging it.  
JW: it's kind of coy about it.  
AN: Great.  
AN: A Coquette for a Bodyguard. Such fun.  
AN: Oh, I just had an idea for what to Prototype with.  
AN: Be right Back.  
JW: what is it?  
JW: ...  
JW: hey  
JW: don't use that, that's a really bad idea!  
JW: oh god.  
AN: What do you mean?  
AN: Now I've got an Awesome baby squid Buddy.  
JW: you don't understand.  
JW: when you prototype the kernelsprite you determine what characteristics all the enemies you fight will have.  
AN: So they're all Going to be Extremely small and Delicious?  
JW: no.  
JW: they're all going to be able to fire ink and strangle you with tentacles.  
JW: and me.  
JW: and tina and celeste.  
JW: do you begin to see why this was a bad idea?  
JW: do you begin to see why you just fucked up so bad?  
AN: Yes! Christ. I'm sorry.  
AN: You didn't tell me any of this Beforehand.  
JW: i'm pretty sure i did dude.  
AN: No, you were just being all Cryptic and shit.  
AN: Way to Fucking Go.  
JW: hey, i'm not the one who thought tentacles would be a fun addition to undead monkey lizards out for our blood.  
AN: I.  
AN: Didn't.  
AN: Know!  
AN: Anyway, you can Remedy this, can't you?  
JW: how?  
AN: Just Prototype your Kernelsprite with something entirely Useless.  
JW: i was going to do that anyway.  
AN: You were?  
AN: How the Flying Fuck do you know all of this Anyway?  
AN: This game has no Goddamn Manual.  
JW: i'd rather not get into that now.  
JW: look dude, i know you have a lot of questions.  
AN: Damn Right.  
JW: but the clock's ticking for both of us and i'd really like for us both to get on with not dying if that's ok.  
AN: Yeah.  
AN: Whatever.  
JW: ok, take the cruxite dowel to the lathe's vise.  
JW: then insert the prepunched card and activate the lathe.  
AN: I do Remember Barty doing this, you know.  
JW: just want to be sure.  
AN: Do you know what is Awaiting me after I Enter?  
JW: not really.  
JW: kind of vaguely.  
AN: I Take it I Shan't be on a Flying Pirate Ship.  
JW: no, you're definitely earthbound.  
AN: OK, so now I take the Dowel to the Alchemiter?  
JW: it's strictly speaking a totem now, but yeah.  
AN: Alright, the Totem then.  
AN: Is there anything else I Should take with me? Anything the Game won't bring unless I Specifically am Holding it?  
JW: do you have a car or anything outside?  
AN: Hah. I wish.  
AN: No, I had to sell my Scooter in order to Purchase my Flight.  
JW: hmm. we might be able to work around that.  
AN: We might?  
JW: well, yeah.  
JW: the idea of alchemy is that we can create almost anything.  
JW: a vehicle ought to be easy.  
AN: Sweet.  
AN: OK, here goes.  
AN: I wonder what kind of Entrance Item I'll Receive.  
AN: Um.  
AN: What the Hell is this Intended to be?  
JW: beats me.  
AN: Do I just Stand on it, or What?  
JW: i suppose so.

 

You captchalogue your assorted gear, take a deep breath, and stand on the large blue plank, or whatever it's supposed to be. At first nothing happens. Then you feel a tugging behind your ribcage, and the next thing you know, you're standing on the top of your building, overlooking the edge. The night sky is red with the heat of the approaching meteor. God, it's huge. You're pretty sure you shouldn't be staring directly at it.  
Why are you up here? Did the game teleport you up here for a reason? You cast your mind back to how Barty entere-- oh. Oh shit.

 

AN: Oh Shit.  
JW: oh hey.  
JW: where'd you go?  
AN: I'm on the Roof.  
AN: Mostly.  
JW: cool.  
AN: It's Really not.  
JW: well, i suppose not.  
JW: why haven't you entered yet?  
AN: I think this Game wants me to Leap off the Building.  
JW: really?  
AN: Barty's Entrance Item was an Apple, but she had to Bite into it before it would Transfer her to the Medium.  
AN: I'm Currently Sitting on the safe end of this Springboard or Whatever it is.  
JW: and the unsafe end?  
AN: ...  
JW: ok just checking  
JW: well i don't know what to tell you dude.  
JW: except if you don't do something in the next ninety seconds or so you're going to die guaranteed.  
AN: I Know!  
AN: I just don't Think I can hurl myself off a four-storey Building like this.  
JW: you'll be alright. the game wants you to do this.  
AN: The Game doesn't know me very well, it Seems.  
JW: maybe.  
JW: ali, come on!

 

OK, you're going to do it. You're going to jump. Ohshitohshitohshitohshit you can't do it. This is a fucked up situation. OK. Here goes. Three. Two. Oneohshitohshitohshit. OK. For real this time. For real this time. Three. Two. Oh, fuck this.

 

JW: wow.  
JW: are you ok?  
JW: hang on a moment, let me move your laptop down.  
AN: Thank You.  
AN: Oh God I've Got Sand In My Everywhere.  
AN: What is this Place?  
JW: not sure.  
JW: you could try asking your kernelsprite.  
AN: Oh yes, it Ought to be more Ghosty now, right?  
JW: well, if ghosty is a thing that it is possible to be, then yes.  
JW: wait.  
AN: What?  
JW: it can't talk to you yet. it's only a squid.  
AN: Oh.  
AN: I can Prototype it a Second time though, Correct?  
JW: yes. this time it's less important 'cause the medium has already taken the information from the pre-entry prototype.  
AN: So I can use Whatever I Choose?  
JW: well it'd definitely be best to choose something helpful.  
AN: No Shit.  
JW: hey just thought i'd point that out after the fuck-up that was your last prototyping.  
AN: Thanks Buddy.  
JW: you're welcome chum.  
AN: Can you keep a Weather Eye out for inbound Hostiles?  
JW: i'll do what i can.  
JW: i need to get on tina's case about getting me in.  
JW: this meteor's not getting any smaller.  
AN: Yeah.  
AN: Good luck with That.  
JW: thanks.  
AN: Let me Know if there is any Aid I may Render.  
JW: i will do.  
JW: reckon i'm the one meant to be saving your arse repeatedly though.  
JW: being your server and all.  
AN: Well, fat chance of that happening if you get Obliterated.  
JW: tina will come through.  
AN: I Hope so.  
JW: she will.  
JW: good luck with the prototyping.  
AN: Thanks. Take care, Whobes.  
JW: and you.  
JW: oh, i built some stairs so you can get back up.  
JW: you should still have enough grist to put some basic stuff together.  
JW: the punch designix is on the roof. you'll figure it out.  
AN: Cheers. Talk to you soon.

 

Yeah. You really hope that's not the last time you speak to him. You suppose you should get started on your adventure. You take a look around you, to size up your surroundings.  
It's a desert, although luckily you were transplanted next to an oasis with a rather generous basin. A good place to land, although you could do without all the sand. You fucking hate sand.  
Far off in the distance you can see the last traces of the sunset. Odd, considering it was past midnight in L.A., but by no means the oddest element of this game. In the dim light, the flickering azure fires far off in the desert stand out stark and uncanny. You wonder what on earth they might be. You hope they're not enemies. You don't think you have anything in the way of weapons to defend yourself with, and your Sylladex hardly lends itself to weaponisation.  
Well, hopefully your Squidsprite can hold off any enemies until you can jury-rig something up.  
As you ascend the staircase Whobes helpfully laid for you, gaining a better perspective on the desert, you see more of the blue fires, further into the distance. Some of them appear to be clustered around a central point, and others are isolated. There don't appear to be any landmarks or interesting features in sight, but perhaps that will change come the morning.

Ah, your apartment. Just as well you didn't have time to unpack, otherwise Whobes would never have been able to fit in all the Phernalia objects. Even considering that, it's a bloody tight squeeze. You had to wriggle through the gap you managed to open between the cruxtruder and the door in order to even get to the roof. You think that'll have to be the first thing to go when you get your hands on a proper weapon. At least Whobes had the good sense to remove the window when he built the staircase. Although sand's going to blow into your room at this rate. Oh well. You suppose he'll be able to make you a new one when you earn some more grist.

OK, so you can't find anything that you can make just using Build Grist except for these goddamn Perfectly Generic Objects. How the sweet blithering fuck are you going to make a weapon you can use out of these?  
You open your Strife Portfolio. You only have the one allotted Specibi right now: you only really used it for LARP, and you're kind of regretting it now. Who the fuck else uses maceKind, really?  
You kick one of your Perfectly Generic Objects. Despite looking like a substanceless game construct, it's actually fairly dense. Hm.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am not going to lie. Listening to David Bowie songs in order to cull lyrics for potential use in sprite conversations was one of the more fun research projects I have embarked on in my time writing.


	5. Dersian Double Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina awakens, Whobes starts to flip out, a bunch of carapeople start accessorising in a manner most peculiar, and crimes against both literature and fairies are contemplated.

You are now the artist girl. Things just keep getting weirder and weirder. You fell asleep in your room overlooking an impossibly high cliff. You woke up in some kind of weird purple tower. Wearing some truly ridiculous violet robe and matching leggings. You don't know whether this is some more game bullshit, or what. Someone has clearly gone to a lot of effort to create a purple facsimile of your bedroom. It's kind of unnerving. Not least considering the door is locked. From the outside. Wherever you are, you're evidently a prisoner there.

The lone window does not have a view of central Bangkok for you to survey. Nor does it show the side of a cliff. You can instead see what are presumably miles and miles of bizarre, alien-looking buildings, all in a similar shade of purple. You say miles, although it's hard to gauge distance precisely. There are some seriously strange geometries going on here.  
This place is inhabited, you can see. Dozens, scores of stunted, coal black...things, with gleaming white eyes, marching around swaddled in what looks like nothing so much as bandages, like Mr. Bump, or an ill-conceived mummy Hallowe'en costume. Some of them appear to be dragging tails along behind them, or tentacles, but these are clearly affectations as well. What exactly are these things? You feel less than confident in confronting them -- many of them are armed, with polearms or hand weapons, and you are completely unarmed, not to mention stranded in a strange city with no way of escape.

 **N'ghott tylb'uou.**

Oh, great. Now you're hearing voices. Talk about going from bad to worse.

 **Dh'rsuh.**

Whatever. Screw this. You need to get back in touch with the others. Maybe they can help you out. Your Macbook is right where you left it: on your bedside table. You have some alerts from Whobes, but you need to speak to your server player if you're going to get to the bottom of this.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

VT: Hey Celeste.  
VT: Are You There?  
VT: Look, I'm Kind Of Having Some Trouble Here.  
VT: I Fell Asleep For A While And Now I'm In A Purple Land.  
VT: And I'm Not Sure But I Think I'm Being Held Captive By These Cosplaying Demon Things.  
VT: Hope You Got That Whole Meteor Thing Sorted Out.  
VT: Is That Still A Thing?  
CB: Oh hey tina!!!  
VT: Oh Good You're There.  
VT: Can You See Me?  
CB: Um im not actually by my computer right now...  
VT: What  
VT: How Are You Talking To Me Then?  
CB: Its a funny story and ill get into it when im not boarding a galleon full of imps!!!  
CB: Sorry tina got to go!!!  
VT: Hey Wait

cleopatrasBard [CB] ceased pestering voraciousThespian [VT]

 

Well, that's bloody fantastic. You're stranded on some sort of alien planet, completely unarmed, and she's playing Pirates of the sodding Caribbean. Good to know your server's looking out for you.  
You scan your room to see if there's anything that can be put to use as a weapon in the event of some horrible thingie coming in and trying to kick in your haircut. The brute.  
You're not really well stocked, in honesty. You left your LARPing gear in the care of a friend back in the UK, so you've not got anything to hand, fat lot of good foam and latex would do you in this kind of situation anyway. Still, a seven foot spear, even a fake one, would make anyone think twice. Even if you can't use it worth shit.  
Um, you guess you have those needles you were knitting your plushie Dalek with? You can't see how they're especially going to make anyone quake in fear, but you suppose it might useful for the show of it more than anything.  
You cast your mind back to your time playing Hurricanoes, rocking the feisty desert-cat look with Celeste, Whobes and Alistair. You were never particularly equipped for combat then either. Mainly you just cradled a bone dagger the length of your forearm like it was a rag doll and you were the most woe-betide ragamuffin this side of Victorian London. That and the blood you habitually daubed yourself with (usually belonging to your character, but still, it was the look of the thing) was enough to deter folk from attacking you. People could give a second thought to all kinds of reasons for attacking the crazy heretical cat-bitch as long as there was a chance she was actually a thanatomagi.  
Of course, that was exactly what you were, but that was generally only known to your friends and allies, or the people you had just cast your first thanatomagick spell on, before you started siphoning the life out of them and distilling it into ambrosya. Yeah, you were pretty much the cat's pyjamas back then. Now, of course, you're in a very different game, and you don't actually have the magics. Or the magicks or majiks either. None of that shit. Still, you think if you can look sufficiently unstable while holding these admittedly rather blunt implements you can give these weird creatures sufficient pause to get the hell out of whatever situation you manage to find yourself in.  
Right, time to try and find your way out of this non-Euclidean nightmare vista. Oh goddammit Whobes what is it this time

 

JW: yo.  
VT: Hey You're Finally Back.  
VT: Not That We Missed You Or Anything.  
JW: sorry to hear that.  
VT: You Know We've Been Doing Quite Well Without You Actually.  
JW: is that so?  
VT: Oh Yes.  
VT: My Hometown Blew Up And I'm Being Haunted By The Ghost Of A Disfigured Tokai And Now I'm In Some Horrible Purple Castle Shat Out Of The Most Gruesome Sphincter Of Lovecraft's Diseased Cerebellum Being Held Captive By These Cosplaying Black Insect Things And Basically Just Having A Blast.  
JW: oh god you're not in derse are you?  
VT: Oh Yeah Also I've Started Hearing Voices.  
VT: Weird Kind Of Outer Spacey Voices.  
JW: fucking hell you're in derse.  
VT: What's Derse?  
JW: derse is the home planet of the dark kingdom.  
VT: Huh?  
JW: you're not really supposed to be there yet. how did you get there?  
VT: I Dunno. I Woke Up Here.  
JW: well of course you fucking did.  
JW: that's how everyone gets there.  
JW: unless they get to prospit instead.  
VT: What?  
VT: That Sounds Rude.  
JW: man, dream you is such a flake.  
JW: look, i'm kind of in a hurry.  
JW: got a problem with this whole inbound meteor thing.  
JW: can you please wake up so you can connect as my server player?  
VT: You Mean Install The Other CD?  
JW: yes.  
VT: What Do You Mean Wake Up?  
JW: god.  
JW: look, you're asleep, ok?  
JW: derse is a dream land.  
JW: you're not the real you at the moment. you need to wake up back in your land.  
VT: Um.  
VT: OK. How?  
JW: well if you can't wake up normally, i guess you need to go find something to make you.  
JW: are there any important looking buildings out there?  
VT: Uh.  
VT: Oh! There's A Tower Like The One I'm In.  
VT: Should I Go To It?  
JW: yeah sure.  
JW: just fly on over.  
VT: What?  
JW: you can fly in derse.  
VT: I Can?  
JW: i think so.  
JW: try it.  
JW: safely.  
JW: ...tina?  
VT: Oh My God I Can Fly!  
JW: i'm made up for you.  
JW: can you get out of there now, please!  
VT: OK I'll Try.  
VT: What Should I Do If These Dark Aliens Attack Me?  
VT: They Look Like They Might They All Have Weapons And Junk.  
JW: don't die.  
JW: also have you tried weaponising your sylladex?  
VT: What You Mean Like Firing Stuff Out Of It?  
JW: yes. couldn't hurt.  
VT: What Could I Fire Out Of It?  
JW: i dunno. heavy things? just find some things to load up on and go!  
VT: I Don't Really Have Many Heavy Things...  
JW: your room is full of hardback books.  
VT: Oh!  
JW: flake.  
VT: Alright Mr Grumpy Gus. I'm Going.

voraciousThespian [VT] ceased pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

 

Well, you suppose you ought to do what Whobes asked. Although you're still not sure what he's talking about with Derse and Prostate. This game is really weird.  
You're not super-fond of the idea of using books as projectiles either. Well, you guess this room isn't your actual room so the books aren't really yours, but they still look like yours. In fact, looking in the dustjackets of your Fairy Books, you can still see the original owners' handwriting. These are exact copies. Except you guess instead of being Orange and Green and Yellow they're all just different shades of Purple. Well, at least you don't have to worry about not having that one in your collection any more. Kind of.  
You quickly stuff your Palette modus with as many books as you can manage. Usually it works fairly well, since to withdraw an item all you need to do is find something around you of an approximately similar colour to 'daub' it onto. Of course, since all of your books are more or less purple you're finding it hard to build up a stock of projectiles, and you can't really bring yourself to turn many of your beloved books into weapons. Or even their purple proxies.  
You hover over to the window, and peek out across the bizarre architecture, to the second tower. Whobes seemed fairly sure the key to escaping was over there. You hope he's right, for both your sakes.

Flying in open spaces is pretty exhilarating; or it would be were you not so concerned with avoiding the line of sight of the patrolling Derse-dwellers. You could get used to this. Far below you see the streets and walkways of Derse, threading between the fractal buildings that jab into the black sky which nevertheless contrives to illuminate your way sufficiently. The oddly-garbed folk which bustle around, armed militia marching, or others engaged in some other inscrutable task, do not look up. You suppose, with a sky so featureless and void, there is not much call to. Still, you make haste to the second tower, and scrabble into the window-like aperture in the chamber's side. You note it is a perfect sphere. Quite the feat of engineering. Casting a look back over your shoulder, you see that the tower you left behind is in fact identical in every way you can tell.  
Every way, that is, except for the interior. This room, from what you can tell, has only recently been moved into. There is the familiar clutter of half-unpacked boxes everywhere, and the room still has the vaguely sterile, unoccupied feel of empty shelves and naked walls. Wait, no-- there are some posters up, in the far corner by the desk. You've seen these before, come to think. That ragged Shaun of the Dead poster, and the ridiculous French Lord of the Rings one...

He's there, lying on the bed. You haven't seen him in person for nearly three years, but here he is. Lying there in an equally outlandish set of purple pyjamas, these with an entirely superfluous violet demicape attached. He almost looks peaceful lying there, except that he's wearing that childish, sulking look his mouth always reverts to in his sleep. You grew to knew it well enough that you found it endearing; then, later, infuriating. Now, looking at him curled on this bed in the middle of this alien land, lost in dreamspace, your hometown in flames far away, out of your depth in circumstances beyond your ability to comprehend, you are more pleased to see that face than you would ever admit. You guess.  
He does not respond to his name, though. You climb down from the window, and cross to the bed, attempting to shake him awake. This meets with a similar lack of success.

 **Hyi wohn't whei ke.**

Who said that? You are beginning to lose patience with this disembodied voice. You have more important things to do than indulge your slow slide into insanity resulting from the intense grief you're repressing. Whobes is relying on you.

 **Yhor'uh nohtt ihn saiyn.**

An outstanding voice of reason there, coming from the imaginary people in your head.

 **Jhuss b'cuszceu chn'ot cius d'snohtmeiyen whe'ar nohtt pres'hnt.**

How delightfully cryptic. But you're kind of busy to be chatting to figments of your imagination.

 **Hwi ahr nohtt the mhen'yfhest iyasgion ofg yohr aylhd s'bconsh'yss. Yndhwi ahr yllize.**

Unfortunately for whatever these things claim to be, you've read far too many (and written a fair few) stories where desperate souls are hoodwinked by voices from beyond. You're not about to bite.

 **Dhat whyln'ohttbi nec'sehri. Luktud'scie.**

You've about exhausted the amount of time you had set aside for arguing with an invisible creature of the id. You guess you should probably have a search around for some hint of what exactly might get you both out of here. The boxes you rifle through yield little except for occasional bouts of nostalgia which play strange, wistful notes upon your heartstrings. Exasperated, you throw your head back to the ceiling -- or rather, the skylight through which the majority of the light in this chamber enters. The black, featureless sky of Derse stares back at you.  
Wait a minute.  
It _is_ staring back at you. You, uh, you don't recall it being quite so undulate-y up there before.

 **Ghrit'ngzs, chyh'lt ofdh'rsuh.**

OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm beginning to get the picture that original character fics have a certain stigma of 'self-insertery-ness' around them in Homestuck fic. While it would be hypocritical of me to deny the degree to which I have drawn on personal experience to create these characters, I'm a little irked that this would necessarily be seen as indicative of a lower quality of writing, which is the impression I get from having lurked around here a while. I've read some outstanding and underwhelming Homefic featuring both OCs and the original cast.  
> Ah well. I ought not to bitch, it's not really something I'm going to be able to change.


	6. She Was Already There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we spend some time with the most popular young gentleman in paradox space, meet a criminal with an odd set of priorities, witness a masterstroke of Game exploitation, and encounter a flintlock pistol (sadly not dual-wielded).

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

VT: Alright, I'm Back, I'm Back.  
JW: thank god.  
JW: we're cutting it fine.  
JW: how are you doing in your land?  
VT: I'm Alright.  
VT: Well, My Home Is Being Attacked By Small Multicoloured Demon Lizard Things With Tentacles, But That Ghost And Tess Seem To Be Holding Them Off For Now.  
VT: We Should Concentrate On Getting You In.  
JW: i wholeheartedly agree.  
JW: can you run the server disc?  
VT: It's Already Running. Should Be Ready In A Moment.  
VT: How Is London Coping With The Prospect Of Sudden Meteor Death?  
JW: not well.  
JW: some dick already threw a brick through one of my windows.  
VT: Are You Alright?  
JW: yeah, it was downstairs.  
JW: you can build me a new one, server player.  
VT: Won't We Need To Save Some Blue Gems?  
JW: not likely.  
JW: we'll probably have more than we know what to do with.  
VT: What?  
VT: I Had Next To Nothing Before I Picked Up What Tess And The Ghost Gleaned For Me.  
JW: explanations can wait. ask ali if you're that curious.  
VT: I Found Him!  
VT: He Was In Derse.  
JW: i know.  
VT: And You Didn't Tell Me?  
JW: well, i wasn't 100% sure.  
JW: but it was the most likely explanation.  
VT: For What?  
VT: Oh, We're Ready.  
JW: joining your session now.

 

Whobes is certainly keeping you busy. He knows his stuff, you'll grant him that. You're not quite sure why, yet, but right now you've not really got the time to speculate on it. That's probably for the best. If you had time to idly speculate your mind would inevitably drift back to what you saw through the tower's skylight. Whoops, no time for that right now! Less than two minutes before impact. You can see him racing up the stairs now. You dropped the entry item card down by the totem lathe like he asked.

JW: ok lathes working  
VT: So I See.  
JW: alchemiters where?  
VT: Kitchen.  
JW: ugh what?  
VT: Your House Is Kind Of Cluttered Dude, I'm Sorry.

 

Oh, he's already gone. Well, fair play. He only has a minute and a half to enter.  
Wait, he hasn't thrown anything into the Shout Ball yet!

 

VT: Whobes!  
VT: Wait!

 

You can't get through to him. His laptop's upstairs. Shit. He's already at the alchemiter. He's placed the red vase-y looking thing on the Alchemiter plinth.  
...Why is nothing happening?

You are, at least for the next minute or so of your life, the Londoner.  
You can't understand it. You've done everything the game wanted you to do. Everything is in place. You thought you understood. It was good enough to get your friends in, so what's changed? You look frantically around you. What's missing? Something...  
You hear an agitated warbling coming from the front room. Of course! The Kernelsprite! And then you hear something else. Something that could not possibly be the Kernelsprite. You dash out of the kitchen, groping your way through the clutter, wrapping your hand round something you can use as a weapon. You bound into the front room and see him, before you even spy the Kernelsprite. A lean, long-fingered fellow in a black hoodie, drawn up around his face, fussing over your family's soundsystem.  
 _What are you doing,_ you ask, in a voice that trembles far too much for someone as laid back as you. His head snaps up, and he straightens, as you size each other up.  
 _Easy, mate,_ he says, turning back to the soundsystem. _End of the fucking world, innit._  
You raise the object in your hand: the only part of you not trembling. It is a pistol. You thumb the hammer back with a dramatic click.  
He slowly rises again, this time with his hands up.  
 _I'm busy,_ you say, waving the pistol barrel towards the window by which he entered. _Fuck off,_ you add as an unnecessary imperative.  
He does not need telling twice.

The Kernelsprite is in the opposite corner of the room, hiding. You aren't sure exactly how a hovering ball of fractal potential is capable of hiding, but you're hardly going to muse the point at this moment in time. You manage to coax it out, and it seems content enough to follow you back into the kitchen. The alchemiter is taking up most of the room, but you manage to force the door of the fridge open long enough to yank out your prototyping item. You've been saving this for a while. You hope it does the trick!

Perfect. Just as planned, in fact. You would revel in your smug satisfaction on making this game about 25% easier to complete with a single stroke, but that probably wouldn't be the best idea currently. You glance down at your watch. Fifteen seconds to go. Well, if a miracle is coming, now would be a fantastic-- is that a train?  
You peer over the plants on the kitchen windowsill. Ah. Yes it is. You proceed to do an acrobatic fucking scramble for your life as the first twelve feet of a deep red steam train plough through the back wall of your house. More shocking than anything else is the horrible noise it makes, all the more poignant because you can't hear anything after, so deafening is it. Having taken cover under the table in the adjacent room, you scramble to your feet. No time to think: the engine cab is open, and you make a running dive into it, as the meteorite fills the sky outside your window...

 

VT: Oh My God There's Some Guy Looting Your House!  
VT: He's Got A Knife, Please Be Careful!  
VT: Oh God...  
VT: Oh, OK. Good Work.  
VT: I Guess.  
VT: Why Hasn't The Entrance Item Come Yet?  
VT: Whobes, I'm Getting Really Worried...  
VT: What The Hell Is That Thing?  
VT: WHOA WHAT THE FUCK  
VT: Whobes?  
VT: Are You Alright?  
VT: Whobes?  
VT: Your House Teleported, Does That Mean You're OK?  
VT: Whobes I Have To Go, The Fighting's Moving Upstairs  
VT: Let Me Know You're Alright When You Can

voraciousThespian [VT] is now an idle chum!

 

You don't really like the sound of that. Tina's been in the Medium long enough that she might have ogres on her hands by now, yet as far as you can tell the only progress she's made is waking up. You should probably get Celeste on the task of supporting her client player, instead of gallivanting off on her whimsy-yacht or whatever, stabbing up some imps and monkeying around with glam rock icons. Not that you're jealous, or anything. In fact, you've got an even better idea for what you're going to use as your second prototype. For now, though, you imagine you had better arm and armour yourself in readiness for the first wave of imps. In the tumult of the break-in, the prototyping and the Cruxite Train demolishing your kitchen, you quite forgot you'd been clutching that flintlock pistol still. Of course, it's only a replica: a LARP prop. You were always the gun nut of the group, which is a difficult thing to be when you're from a culture of desert-dwelling traditionalist theocrats. Still, no-one doubted you got results. Shame that none of your firearms actually fire anything other than percussion caps. Yet.  
Tina buggering off is kind of a bind, since you can't deploy GristTorrent from your own Phernalia, but you imagine you'll be able to make do in the meantime so long as you have your blunderbuss, which is about the heaviest thing you can feasibly wield in a pistolKind strife specibus. You always meant to pick up that rifleKind card, but never got round to it. Well, you suppose you can always alchemise your sweet-ass replica musket into something a little more portable.  
Your Aloeverasprite is drifting around aimlessly. It doesn't seem to have much in the way of personality. That's fine by you. If a quarter of the games underlings are content to mooch around in sunlight rather than chase you down on dextrous monkey legs and molest you with tentacles you'll consider yourself very well done by. The extra Vitality Gel your foes will yield won't hurt, either. Yep, you pretty much own at this game.

 

JW: hey tina, no cause for alarm.  
JW: alive and well over here.  
JW: sorry i can't see you yet to give you some coaching.  
JW: but i'll give barty a bell, try and get her to weigh in.  
JW: she seems like she's doing well, anyway.  
JW: ali should be able to build her up to her gate soon, and then we can start teaming up. which is probably the best way of taking this game on.  
JW: also we'll need to team up at some points anyway.  
JW: but i'm getting ahead of myself.  
JW: good luck with the brouhaha. i'm gonna go start harvesting some grist.  
JW: see you soon, i hope.

 

Well gosh, that's odd. While you were bent over your laptop, someone appears to have left a note on your bedroom door. It's been assembled from newspaper cutouts, just like in the films! How quaint!

DeAR WhoBES

yOu SHould talk 2 jANe

A friEND

Talk to Jane? You think, given the circumstances, that could well be a good idea. Then again, will she even have survived? You suppose that she might not have been in London at the time of the blast. You suppose that she may well have been well aware of exactly what was going to happen. Not that you're thinking about the consequences of that at the moment or anything. Nope. Ignorance is most definitely bliss. Of course, it's difficult to tell whether she's around or not even at the best of times, with her glitched account. Oh well. No harm in trying, you suppose.

 

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering

JW: hi.  
Good morning.  
JW: oh good, you're ok.  
Yes, of course I am.  
JW: i thought you might have got caught in the destruction.  
No, I'm perfectly alright.  
JW: so, i'm in the game.  
So it would seem.  
JW: all my friends made it in too.  
Good show. Well done.  
JW: is something wrong?  
No, of course not. Why? Do you feel like something's wrong?  
JW: in a word? yes.  
Really? Why's that?  
JW: you don't seem very happy.  
Happy? Why would I be happy?  
JW: well, we're playing your game, right? like you wanted?  
My game? When did I lay any claim to it being my game?  
JW: you said you'd been involved in development.  
JW: it was your idea for us to play!  
Yes. Are you enjoying yourselves?  
JW: currently? no!  
JW: you never mentioned a fucking meteor holocaust obliterating half the planet.  
Oh Jake, now you're being melodramatic. Holocaust implies targeted, hostile obliteration.  
JW: well, something's responsible for the systematic destruction of our cities.  
JW: and when i find them...  
You'll do what? Get revenge?  
JW: maybe.  
You don't strike me as the type.  
JW: well no offence jane, but you don't know me.  
Yes, I do.  
JW: we hooked up once. one night. my hairdresser knows more about me.  
JW: and i haven't visited him in two years.  
Droll.  
Jake, I do know you. You're not ready to know why yet, but I do.  
JW: what the fuck.  
JW: this withholding information thing isn't as cute as you seem to fucking think.  
You would know.  
JW: that's different.  
Do you know what you stand to gain from this?  
What boons you will reap if you succeed?  
Or are you so blind as to consider only what you have lost?  
I dare say you out of all of the players were best prepared for this eventuality.  
Or did this particular aspect of your future not make itself apparent, Jake?  
JW: not exactly.  
Oh?  
Was Skaia perhaps coy about revealing its true cost to you?  
I can't imagine why.  
Perhaps it was ashamed of what would be necessary.  
What a strange thought, that Skaia itself might filter its own revelatory visions out of a sense of propriety.  
I've actually amused myself with the notion. Pardon me while I indulge a spot of airy laughter.  
Ahahahaha.  
There.  
That's better.  
JW: you set us up for this.  
JW: you knew what was going to happen.  
JW: i don't know how you knew, but you knew.  
Are you going to seek revenge, Jake?  
Are you going to kill me?  
I must say, your natural flair for the melodramatic is quite compelling.  
Off the record, it's one of the elements of your character I most enjoy.  
I think I shall have to ensure our paths cross again.  
If only so I can enjoy our passionate reunion.  
There will be fireworks. And not just beneath my breast.  
I would say I can't wait. But that's not especially true.  
I am a patient woman. Very patient.  
JW: ...you're sick.  
JW: you're a sick bitch and i'm going to make you pay.  
Oh Jake, my heart is all a-flutter.  
Believe me, I look forward to it.  
But for now, I will bid you farewell.  
It appears there are other matters which require your more immediate attention.

ceased pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

 

You are so fucking angry right now. You're within a hair's breadth of beating your laptop against a wall. But you get the impression that is probably a bad idea, if only because reinstalling the game on whatever oddball computer you managed to alchemise as a replacement would eat into your saving-Ali-and-consequently-everyone-else's-arse time.

There is more jostling downstairs. It very much appears like more uninvited guests have arrived. You are just the most popular young gentleman in paradox space this evening. Lucky you. An opportunity to do some violence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Concentrating on more professional projects for the time being. Still have a huge backlog of stuff to share though, no worries there.


	7. We Have The Best Sprites, You Have No Idea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tina learns2play, alchemy shenanigans are embarked upon, and Celeste succumbs to the inevitable consequence of being stranded on a boat by becoming a fruit delivery girl.

You are now the plucky heroine. You have just boarded and captured a rather cute little galley containing some particularly belligerent (not to mention betentacled) imps. One of them squirted ink all over your corset. Admittedly it's black leather and not particularly inclined to stain, but it's the principle of the thing, really. All things considered, you're rather enjoying yourself.

Jarethsprite unfortunately decided to remain behind at your mothership and hold down the fort. You suppose that's probably for the best. Anyway, you don't really need his help now you've got the hang of this. You're kicking rather substantial quantities of arse if you do say so yourself. The feather in your Echeladder Tiara is quite voluminous. And purple!

This ship you've single-handedly captured seems to have more of a connection with this sky you're exploring rather than the Dark Kingdom Jarethsprite spoke of, with its space-age dropships. You're kind of glad those things don't have guns. You're not really sure how to operate these cannons, should it be required in self-defense, nor are you confident that their usefulness against targets on a similar altitude would translate terribly well to a battle against the terribly manoeuvrable dropships. Oh well.  
You sheath your generic cutlass, which you alchemised under the supervision of Jarethsprite, and decide to have a good look round your latest conquest. You're a Commodore! ...Well, not really. Most of these tubs are pretty shitty, to be honest. But some have loot! And when you say loot you mean Boondollars. You kind of wish you knew what they were for besides stuffing that cute little piggybank you acquired. Still, not for you to look a pig's gift in the mouth. Or something.

The main cabin, such as it is on such a small boat, holds a little chest. Yet there are no garishly coloured coins in here. Something far more interesting than that. A map! Um, admittedly it's not much of a map. It's pretty empty, in honesty. More of a blank piece of paper with a compass rose on it. You suppose this sky is pretty featureless. But still, at least that's confirmed now. And at least you know it's not entirely featureless; your apartment/ship is marked in the east, and there's a settlement a decent distance away to the west. You consult your iGAUNTLET, with its handy-dandy compass app, and get a bearing. Oh, and Tina and Ali have been pestering you while you were busy sorting out those damned rascally imps. No rest for the wicked, or even for the endearingly mischievous, it seems.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

VT: Hey.  
VT: If You're Not Too Busy I Could Really Use A Hand.  
VT: We Just Finished Dealing With The Last Wave Of Those Little Lizardy Monkey Tentacle Monsters And We're Exhausted.  
VT: Especially Tess.  
VT: Are You There?

voraciousThespian [VT] is now an idle chum!

CB: Hey tina!!!  
CB: Sorry didnt realise you were having so much trouble...  
CB: Whats the matter???  
VT: Oh, Hi.  
VT: It's Just Difficult. I Don't Have Any Proper Strife Specibi And There's Only So Many Books I Can Launch Out of My Sylladex.  
CB: You dont have a strife specibi???  
CB: Oh god im sorry tina i thought you had one sorted out!!!  
CB: Didnt mean to leave you in the lurch like that!!!  
CB: Hey while were trying to find you one why dont you reprototype your tokai???  
VT: What Do You Mean 'Reprototype'?  
CB: You can chuck something else in to make it stronger!!!  
CB: Guess what i chose... ^_^;;;  
VT: Was It Your Guitar?  
CB: No!!!  
CB: Although youve just given me another really good idea!!!  
CB: I should start writing these down...  
CB: It was my david bowie figure!!!  
VT: ...  
VT: Seriously?  
CB: Yeeesss!!! ^_^  
VT: That's Bloody Amazing.  
CB: I know!!!  
VT: I'm Totally Jealous. How Is He?  
CB: Kind of monkeyish... >_>  
VT: Huh?  
CB: That was my first prototype...  
VT: Oh. Well, That Suddenly Makes A Lot More Sense.  
CB: You could probably do the same you know!!!  
CB: Although probably your bowie would be kind of lizardy and have a slashed up eye and stuff...  
CB: Might not be so helpful with the fighting!!!  
VT: No, That's OK.  
VT: Suddenly I Have An Even Better Idea.  
CB: Really???  
VT: Just A Moment.

 

You are now the voracious thespian.  
You know it's in the pile somewhere. You just hope it wasn't damaged in the brawl. Ah, there it is! The City and The City. You like this edition particularly because of the lovely picture on the inside of the dust jacket. And also because it's a fucking amazing book. You hope you can find another copy somehow after this...

Spritelog:

CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Evening.  
TINA: Hi China...  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Ms. Trappsen. Good to see you. ...I'm going to confess a degree of confusion about what's going on here.  
TINA: Well, Basically, I Need You To Help Me Beat This Game.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Oh?  
TINA: Um, I Guess It's Kind Of A Video Game? But More Like A LARP In A Lot Of Ways.  
TINA: It's Kind Of Pedestrian And Stupid In A Lot Of Ways Too, But Also Deadly.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Yes, I know, I understand all about it.  
TINA: You Do?  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Yes. I'm a sprite and therefore a keeper of this game's tale. An enigmatic and inscrutable being upon the lips of which hang such secrets that would reduce your mind as it stands to paste and crumble your spirit into atoms.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Tok!  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Also I'm sort of a gecko thing to a small extent.  
TINA: Tokai.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Sorry?  
TINA: Tokai. It's A Bit Bigger Than A Gecko. Native to Southeast Asia.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Oh, it's a Thailand thing. My apologies. Should've guessed. Thanks for clearing that up.  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: However, my confusion is more centred around why you have so far neglected to employ the tools your server gave you in order to better prepare yourself for the rigours of the game.  
TINA: Which Tools?  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: The Phernalia items. Your Alchemy tools.  
TINA: Why, What Can I Make With Them?  
CHINA TOKAIVILLESPRITE: Approximately? Anything.

 

You are now the neophyte Hero of Void, about an hour in the past. You have just, with the aid of Jarethsprite, fended off the first wave of imps that attempted to board your, uh, your home. You are still getting used to the idea that your home is now a boat. There's rather a lot that you're still getting used to, in honesty.  
Like this game, for instance. OK, so you just collected all the gems that those enemies dropped. You guess different coloured imps drop different type of gem? That makes sense. Now how do you turn them into something useful?

Spritelog:

JARETHSPRITE: How do you like the Game, Celeste?  
CELESTE: Piece of cake...  
JARETHSPRITE: Brave of you. I'm not convinced though.  
CELESTE: No really i can handle it!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: Really? You've torn your dress, your face is a mess...why don't we up the stakes?  
CELESTE: What do you mean???  
JARETHSPRITE: I mean taking up your weapons and taking the fight to them. Begin your journey in earnest. Take their lives and their yields, and render them up to your server so you can find your friends.  
CELESTE: Ok!!!  
CELESTE: Lets get some alchemy done!!!

With Jarethsprite guiding you through the process, it's surprisingly less hassle than you had expected. You decide to try and convert your stock of LARP armour into something a little more multi-functional.

Macbook || Leather Gauntlets = iGauntlets

Brilliant! Bit more robust than your average laptop and protects your forearms into the bargain. You'll have to try and stay clear from electrical storms though. Let's try something a little more esoteric.

Studded Leather Corset && Dragon Figurine = Dragonscale Armoured Corset

Oh. My. God!!! You can't believe you actually have armour that is actually made out of genuine dragon scales! If it weren't for almost everyone you know being doomed by meteors you personally summoned this would quite probably be the best day ever. OK, how about a weapons upgrade?

Legend of Zelda cartridge && LARP Sword = Foam Master Sword

OK, that's kind of underwhelming. You were kind of hoping for something a little less made out of latex and a little more made out of win. It's a pretty sweet replica though, and you get the impression it would probably do an alright job of smiting evil. So long as the evil in question didn't mind you whaling on it for about five minutes until you could break their skin with it. Sigh. Let's try again.

Foam Master Sword || Athame = Master Dagger

Well, this seems to be more like it. Unfortunately it also costs a small fortune in gems. Grist. You mean Grist. You suppose you'll have to save up? And, uh, maybe make a decent full-length weapon in the meantime? You wonder what happens if you combine two things from broadly the same category of item?

Tricorn Hat || Silk Headscarf = Exquisite Headpiece

Now this is a piece of headgear to be proud of. You resolve to don it only when attending the fanciest of parties. Not that there're going to be many fancy parties consider--OH HEY LOOK SHINY BEADS

Shiny Beads && Sorceress Painting = Ambrosya Nodules

These things are spangly and cool, like glowsticks except not toxic. Probably. You don't think you'd like to eat one to test it though. You make a bunch of them although strictly speaking you don't have the magics outside of a LARP or videogame. You are not a witch! It's nice to pretend, anyway. Jarethsprite seems to be rather interested in these nodules. You wonder...

Crystal Sphere || Ambrosya Nodule = Blast Magic Blast

Jareth examines the new, pulsing crystal ball and 'ooks' to himself softly. He taps on it three times, then turns and throws it over the edge of the ship.  
Wow. That was possibly the glitteriest explosion you've ever seen. You've got to make some more of these.  
OK, you've about got enough Grist for one more shot at this 'weapon which doesn't mostly suck' gig.

LARP Sword || Tricorn Hat = Piratical Cutlass

OK! Now we're talking. Time to sail the seven skies, shiver your timbers and do a bunch of other piratey shit. You've got your tricorn, you've got your cutlass, you've got your sweetass armour and armtop computer, you're almost ready to head off. Just one more thing.

Spritelog:

CELESTE: Ok jareth are you ready???  
JARETHSPRITE: I'm afraid I can't go with you, Celeste.  
CELESTE: Whaaat???  
CELESTE: Why not???  
JARETHSPRITE: Well, I just can't apologise.  
CELESTE: But now i need you more than ever!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: I'm just a spirit guide, baby.  
CELESTE: Heehee!!!  
CELESTE: But seriously youre not coming with me???  
JARETHSPRITE: I can't. I am not a bodyguard, Celeste. I am a guide yes, but you must conquer this land and discover its mysteries by yourself. I cannot help you.  
CELESTE: Oh...  
JARETHSPRITE: I will protect your home while you are gone, though. And I'll be waiting for you when you return.  
CELESTE: Ok!!!  
CELESTE: Ill go and earn some grist and come back!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: L-ook for the gates.  
CELESTE: Huh?  
JARETHSPRITE: The Seven Gates will take you to new places. Different regions of this Land, and the Lands beyond.  
CELESTE: How will i know them when i see them???  
JARETHSPRITE: Look up.  
CELESTE: Ohhh...  
CELESTE: Alright see you soon jarethsprite!!!  
JARETHSPRITE: Good luck.  
JARETHSPRITE: Never look back, walk tall, act fine.  
JARETHSPRITE: And, uh, if you could bring back a banana...  
CELESTE: Will do!!!

You climb into your little dinghy tethered by your houseboat and set sail. Off in the distance you can see a couple of trows, idling together. You neglected to alchemise a telescope (and curse yourself for your lack of foresight) but they seem to be occupied. You wonder how they'll hold up to a glitter bomb up in their business.  
Rowing through the sky is surprisingly easy, but then again you're only in a little boat. Jarethsprite told you the Denizen had kept the power of the Land's light for himself. A land without wind or weather...how terrible! You are sure you have it in you to save it though, both from the Dark Kingdom's invasion and the Denizen. On, to adventure!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Working on some pictures of the main cast. Hopefully will have them ready soon!


	8. We're Going To Need More Wands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ali continues to make suboptimal decisions concerning his Sprite, Tina continues her quest to de-sexism the Game, and the Sprites dump really rather a lot of exposition on our increasingly exasperated Heroes' heads. Also disparaging comments are made concerning survival horror games.

You are the Page, newly equipped with your jury-rigged weapon. Well, you stabbed a PERFECTLY GENERIC OBJECT with a broom handle and called it a weapon. The Game called it an INCREDIBLY SHITTY MACE, which you think is uncharitable for a first effort, but you're not about to pursue the point. You've got more voluminous seafood to broil. Literally. You're about to try and reprototype your squid into something that can actually lend you some advice. God knows you need it. You've hunted through your collection of film paraphernalia, and you think you've identified the best possible candidate: the perfect combination of arse-kicking, wisdom, clarity of purpose and noble spirit.

Go go Shaun of the Dead action figure!

Spritelog:

SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Er...  
ALI: Hi.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Hello.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: I, glub...OK.  
ALI: Are you alright?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Yeah! Yeah, I'm fine. Just, glub.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Who are you?  
ALI: I'm Alistair. Big fan.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Really? That's... nice?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Right, so, you're the Page, yeah?  
ALI: I am?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: I think so. How you doing?  
ALI: Um, surviving.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Great! Great.  
ALI: Listen, I was Wondering, do you have any Advice you could give me? I'm in sort of a Sticky Situation.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Oh yeah, right! 'cos of the Game and everything.  
ALI: Yeah.  
ALI: Goddammit I just Lost.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Eh?  
ALI: Nothing.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: OK. Well, er, I reckon we should find Tina and the others, kill the Queen, hole up somewhere safe, have a nice cup of tea and wait for all of this to blow over.  
ALI: Huh? Why Tina?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Alistair. There's no 'I' in 'team'. Although there is an 'I' in 'pie'.  
ALI: ...What?  
ALI: Wait, what Queen? There's a Queen?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: ...Yeah...  
ALI: Can she lend aid to our Efforts?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Glub...  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Which one?  
ALI: There's more than one Queen?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Two.  
ALI: And will they Assist us?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: One might.  
ALI: And the Other?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Glub...she, uh, hates you, actually.  
ALI: Me Personally?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Kind of, yeah.  
ALI: What a Bitch. Wait. On what Grounds has she Embarked upon such a Decided Loathing?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: She's the Queen of the Dark Kingdom. They're a bit hate-y.  
ALI: The Dark Kingdom? Are they the same jeb-ends who've been Bothering Barty with their Highfalutin dropships and their cannon fodder Minions?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Yeah.  
ALI: Hm. Think we can Get Away with Jobbing her?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: No, no, no, wait.  
ALI: Why?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Because A, she'll probably kill you, and B, she'll get really annoyed.  
ALI: She's Trying to Murder my Friends!  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Calm down, pickle. You've got to walk before you can run. She's trying to murder you too.  
ALI: She can try.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: She'll do it. She's at her most powerful now. What's that?  
ALI: It's a mace.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: It's rubbish!  
ALI: It's my first try. I'll make Something Better.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: You have to kill something first.  
ALI: No problem.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Yes problem. You're not going to kill anything with that.  
ALI: Well, what Should I do?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: You could weaponise your Sylladex...  
ALI: With what, Precisely?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Vinyls?  
ALI: This is ridiculous. Is there anything You can do?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Glub.  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: I've got tentacles?  
ALI: Right. You do what you can with Those, I'll try and get Whobes on the Wire and see if he can give us a hand. How's that for a Slice of Fried Gold?  
SHAUNOFTHESQUIDSPRITE: Yeah, boyee!  
ALI: Right.

It's true what they say. You should never meet your heroes. Especially the ones who work in retail for a living. You'll only be disappointed.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

AN: Hey Whobes.  
AN: Are you There?  
AN: Hey, if there's anything you can do to Pitch in I'm in Dire need of some Backup about now.  
AN: I can hear them Amassing outside and I'm currently armed with a Cube on a Stick.  
AN: ...  
AN: I'm Guessing that's a No then.  
JW: yo.  
AN: My mistake.  
JW: how's it going?  
AN: I thought it'd Previously been Established as Not Great.  
JW: right.  
JW: bit distracted, sorry.  
AN: What are you up to that's more Important than saving the Arse of your feckless Client?  
JW: alchemy.  
AN: Oh.  
AN: Wait, how are you Alchemising already? I've still not got any new Grist!  
JW: really?  
JW: oh, i suppose the only way up is via the stairs...  
AN: Yeah. I barred the Window-Hole since you saw fit to Remove it.  
JW: oh yeah, i see it.  
JW: well there's your problem.  
JW: they're only imps at this stage.  
JW: they've not got the strength to break through.  
JW: it probably wouldn't even occur to them.  
JW: even the ones that don't have a potted plant for a brain.  
AN: Huh?  
JW: never mind.  
JW: look, go take down the barricade and fight some imps.  
JW: they should be all over your little oasis haven now.  
AN: I should Venture outside and engage these Sand Devils head on?  
JW: dude this isn't silent hill. if anything it's more like resident evil.  
AN: That's not a great Comfort, you Understand.  
JW: the later ones where everyone's packing ridiculous amounts of cash and you can upgrade your weapons until you are basically a giant hammy god of death.  
AN: Oh. That's more Encouraging.  
AN: Although the implied increasing Propensity towards Wanton Scenery Devouring is still Worrying.  
JW: i think you can probably just get away with randomly screaming the names of supporting npcs occasionally.  
AN: Let us Hope.  
JW: yes.  
JW: anyway yeah don't fret man.  
JW: these imps are hella weak.  
JW: you could probably brute force them if you wanted to.  
AN: Please. We're not Barbarians.  
JW: just saying. when that abomination you're lugging around breaks...  
AN: It's Not Going To Break It's Fine Shut Up.  
JW: whatever.  
JW: take this, too.  
AN: Another CD?  
JW: it's gristtorrent.  
JW: install it when you have a minute. you can leech grist from me and barty.  
JW: trust the dersians to be slow on the uptake...  
AN: That Thing that you just said isn't a Word.  
JW: it is, actually.  
JW: also, you're one to talk.  
JW: window-hole?  
AN: That's your fault. Also Fuck You.  
JW: heh.  
JW: go take your incredibly shitty mace and learn to not suck at this game.  
AN: Fine. I will.  
AN: I mean I Don't. Shut up.  
JW: heheh.  
JW: i'll keep an eye out if you look like you need an assist.  
JW: right now though i think you should be farming all the xp you can.  
JW: bigger enemies will be on their way.  
AN: Oh Fantastic.  
JW: don't worry. focus on getting the grist and the levels for now.  
AN: Right. Will do.  
JW: give 'em hell, bro.

averseNotary [AN] ceased pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

 

You take down the barricade over the window. Imps. Imps everywhere. Silver imps, white imps, gold imps, black imps. You're basically tripping imps. Most of them are goofing around your oasis, but there are a few shinning up the skeleton of your building towards your room. You'll have to deal with those when they finish climbing, you can't reach them and you're not about to start fruitlessly lobbing Perfectly Generic Objects around. That would be silly. Nope, you've got a long session of stumping around smacking things with a Perfectly Generic Object on a stick. Man, Whobes was right. This thing has disaster written all over it. Well, you suppose if they're that feeble you can probably outrun them if/when it does break. Go back upstairs and fix yourself a weapon that doesn't actually suck all the balls. Every ball.

They don't appear to have noticed you yet. Or if they have, they haven't registered you as a threat. To be fair, you probably wouldn't register you as a threat. Well, that should soon change.

 

You are now the Hero of Space. Under China's tutelage (rather different to your previous experiences with the man) you've been dealing with the imp infestation and gathering enough Grist to begin your upgrading. Well, you say you've been dealing with it. Mainly China's been busting chops, splitting heads and generally busting caps with those unfathomably toned guns he's toting on his lizard arms. It's just so...bafflingly...delicious, even if he does only have one eye and teethmarks on his pate.  
Ahem. Well, you didn't just stand there like some kind of damsel in distress. You were launching hardbacks left, right and centre. You even managed to gain a couple of ranks on your, uh, your Echeladder? Your rank-gainy thing. No longer a Artless Dodger, you've dragged yourself up to the marginally less shameful level of Smallfry Sculptress. Once again, this game's tireless devotion to crude genderising and diminishing of your personal agency does little to win your affection. Oh well.  
There were some interesting drops, as well. A whole bunch of grist, mainly Build and Gold. But some of the bolder imps had begun using the contents of your house as weapons against you. One even got its claws on your needles. You got them back though, plus a needleKind Strife Specibus card. You guess this could be useful? It's not like you have any practice fighting with them, but then again at least you know your way round them. If you tried pistolKind or something you'd just as likely shoot yourself, and you have the feeling no amount of Vitality Gel would mitigate that. Best make do with what you know.

Time to get down to manufacturing some phat lewtz. As you're pretty sure they say on the Internet. Somewhere.

Knitting Needles && Paint Set = Colourweavers

Handy! This should make your sylladex much easier to use. You hope you'll still have these next time you wind up in Derse. That place needs some colour. Anything but more purple. Still not terribly effective weapons, though.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

VT: Hey.  
CB: Hi tina whats up???  
VT: I'm Kind Of Struggling For Weapons Here.  
VT: Is There Anything You Can Think Of To Make My NeedleKind Strife Specibus More, Uh...  
CB: Uh...???  
VT: Killy?  
CB: Um...  
CB: This isnt a great time tina sorry >_>  
VT: That's Alright.  
CB: Wait ill send over a couple of codes!!!  
CB: Try them out they might do something cool...  
CB: fz44444P  
CB: wYRMh1D3  
CB: F43841lS  
VT: Thanks, I'll See What I Can Do.  
CB: No problem ^_^

voraciousThespian [VT] ceased pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

 

Huh. Where did she get this odd paraphernalia? The dragonscale thing isn't really your style. Well, it kind of is but you're hardly going to let Celeste steal a march on you when it comes to kit-making. That would be dreadful! Nope, experimentation must be had. For science!

Colourweavers || Ambrosya Nodule = Octarine Needlewands

Whoa. WHOA. Magics. You has them. China will be so proud! They seem to be pulsating slightly, but that's fine. It's the colour of magic, what do you expect?

Crystal Globe && iMac = scryMac

Well, it's more portable, you've got to admit. Floaty. Also the webcam function appears to now allow you access to any electronic camera in the universe: which currently encompasses yours, Whobes', Celeste's and Alistair's. Oh well. You can work on that. And you suppose being potentially able to see all your friends is an improvement on just seeing what Jarethsprite is up to pottering round Celeste's houseboat. Not that watching a furry ghost version of David Bowie isn't fun. ...Well, not that fun. Your new computer solution is still lacking something though...

iMac && Vintage Ukelele = Makelele

Finally, a computer that combines a robust and versatile platform with a fae, slightly twee-sounding string instrument. Finally! Now for a wardrobe upgrade.

Dragonscale Armoured Corset && Velvet Smoking Jacket = Dragonscale Smoking Jack

Huh. It's really more of a gambeson than a jack, but you guess you'll allow wordplay to trump fidelity this time. Who are you kidding. Wordplay always trumps fidelity as far as you're concerned. Gotta love that wordplay. Man, this gambeson is pimp. Or at least you would say that did you not find the lionisation of pimping in modern popular culture to be abhorrent. Which it is, and you do. Moving on.

Oscar Wilde Anthology || Vintage Ukelele = Wilde Stallion

You fail to resist the urge to be excellent. Air guitar ensues the fuck out. Also some non-non-non-air ukelele.

Spritelog:

TINA: Hey China, What Do You Think?  
CHINASPRITE: A definite improvement. I'd even hazard you're ready to begin your ascent.  
TINA: My What Now?  
CHINASPRITE: Did you think you would just be defending your home from the underlings of the Dark Kingdom? You have work to do, Tina.  
TINA: I Don't Understand.  
CHINASPRITE: The prison tower of your dreams is the Dark Kingdom controlling these imps, sending them to sever the thread of your life before it has been woven into something strong and indelible.  
CHINASPRITE: To keep you and your companions safe you must take up arms and scale the Cliff your Land has placed before you. At the summit lies the Forge, from which hope anew shall spring.  
TINA: What Kind Of Hope?  
CHINASPRITE: That depends on your efforts. A heavy burden has been placed on all your shoulders, but yours in particular.  
CHINASPRITE: Along your travels you will discover more about what you are to become. The responsibilities you must assume.  
CHINASPRITE: This Land holds the keys to a phoenician renewal of fortunes. But before you can unlock the door to which they belong you must travel beyond.  
CHINASPRITE: Stoking the fires, awakening your destiny is something you must prove yourself ready for in the boundless and becalmed skies.  
CHINASPRITE: In the deserts that bake under the flames of every heart's desire.  
CHINASPRITE: And the rivers that flow without pause to fuel the rhythm of this universe.  
TINA: Wow.  
CHINASPRITE: Yeah, it's kind of heavy. Pretty dense as well, I could go on but I don't want to overexposit and turn you off the whole deal.  
TINA: Thanks, I Get That.  
CHINASPRITE: Anyway, good luck, Tina. I have faith in you.  
TINA: OK, Thank You China!  
TINA: Um, Just A Quick Question...  
CHINASPRITE: Yes?  
TINA: How Do I Get Up There?  
CHINASPRITE: You already possess the means.  
TINA: I Do?  
TINA: OK. Guess I Should Test Them Out A Bit.  
CHINASPRITE: Fare well, Seer.

Seer? Huh?  
Probably more impenetrable backstory to this game. It does sound kind of cool. You hope it begins to make more sense when you start exploring your land.

There are still a handful of imps lurking around the cliff face. You wonder where they keep coming from. You imagine they must be able to shin up and down. The tokai-looking ones certainly are shimmying around the cliff at an impressive speed. You're less sure about the ones with the big spiky leafy afros, but they don't seem particularly concerned with you, so you figure you can leave those ones at least to their own devices.  
You draw your OCTARINE NEEDLEWANDS and try to think magical thoughts.

...Nothing's happening. This is kind of disappointing. Useless bloody things.  
Wait. That was a definite spark. Why did it suddenly work just then? Now it's back to pulsating. These damn wands are so frustrati-- oh my.

Um, you suppose that's one way to deal with an imp. Unfortunately for it it appears to be a long way down. Do these wands only react to strong surges of emotion? What a useless pair of--  
Well, you guess they're alright. Although it still pisses you off that the game would see fit to place a set of weapons that key off excesses of emotion in the hands of a woman! How stereotypical can you get, for god's--  
Alright. Well, that appears to have satisfactorily solved the imp problem for the time being. That's actually quite a lot of Grist, now you come to think. Well, you just have to figure out how to get up this cliff face with the means you apparently already possess. You wish China didn't have to be so damn oblique. Short of wishing yourself up the cliff with positive thinking, you're struggling for options.  
Welp.


	9. Bitches Hate Squids

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ali gets his shit together sufficiently to begin exploring his land, the tactical benefit of a giant pie on a stick is (briefly) considered, Whobes defends his apparent tendencies toward wicked ineffability, and Shaunsprite is left to lament the lack of anything to balance a pair of shades on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apparently I have to cram like fuck for the GRE I'm suddenly taking next week, so don't be surprised if this story goes dark for a while.

You are now the guy with the broken mace.  
Yeah, OK, it fell apart pretty quickly. On the plus side it forced your Strife specibus to alter to handleKind, so you weren't completely hobbled. And actually it felt kind of good to smack around the little buggers. Although you did take a bit of a whacking from the tentacled ones. Nothing a little of that healing gel couldn't sort out, although your ensemble has seen better days. That was one of your top ten waistcoats before they inked all over it, the little shits.  
Still, you actually levelled a couple of times just from beating up the imps. From HOLLYWOOD HALFWIT to SQUIRE REDSHIRT. Nice. Veiled insults aside, Whobes was right. The Game doesn't actually seem that difficult so far. Well, admittedly you've only been fighting these goofy-arse imps. And he did say there'd be tougher enemies along soon. You suppose you ought to get to work on Alchemising some gear that might actually help you in a fight as opposed to become a liability. But first, you open your Strife Portfolio and see if you can reset your specibus back to its original form. Turns out it's fairly simple changing a specibus between a half and full form as long as the full form was the original.  
Although who would even get a 1/2 pistolKind specibus in the first place like seriously some people have more money than sense.

Of course, repairing your specibus ejects the broom handle from your strife specibus, since obviously handles of any kind don't belong in there any more. Obviously. You sigh, gather up the pieces of your INCREDIBLY SHITTY MACE and go see what your sprite is up to in that oasis.

Spritelog:

ALI: Feel free to step in at Any Time!  
SHAUNSPRITE: You did alright. Didn't want to cramp your style.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Did you mean to do that, with the, glub, hammer?  
ALI: It was a Mace!  
ALI: And No, I didn't.  
ALI: I Would have thought that was Obvious.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Well I dunno. It smacked one of them in the face, I thought you were doing a, y'know, a trick shot.  
ALI: ...No!  
SHAUNSPRITE: Glub.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Well, you've got your Grist now. You can go and make some gear, if you like.  
ALI: I was gonna.  
SHAUNSPRITE: And check in with Celeste, it's been a while. She might need you.  
ALI: I was gonna.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Well, I'll be here if you need me.  
ALI: Can you at least keep the imps from Infiltrating what Remains of my Abode? I've not Unpacked yet, I don't want Shit going missing.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I dunno.  
ALI: I'm Pretty Sure it's your job to watch over me or something like That.  
SHAUNSPRITE: No, I mean...what's an Abode?  
ALI: ...Just don't let anything else in.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Sure.

Never. Meet. Your heroes.

The Punchcard Designix is a little computer-y for you to wrap your head around, but eventually through trial and error (and systematic abuse of blank captchalogue cards) you manage to get things started. You decide to try and sort out your armament dilemma initially.

Incredibly Shitty Mace && Sweeney Todd Poster = The Worst Mace In London

Oh Hell No.

Edward Scissorhands Poster && Incredibly Shitty Mace = Prototype Morningstar

This is a little more like it. Admittedly the spikes and various blades look like they're about to spring off and do you a mischief if you smack something the wrong way, but your wellbeing is governed by a health bar now, right? What's the worst could happen?  
You decide to try again later. Maybe you can make use of Shaun's brothers and sisters, since he's being such a useless twat.

Chic Waistcoat || Squid = Squid-Print Eveningwear

Hey, sweet embroidery! You're definitely adding this one to your waistcoat collection. The opalescent eyes are a nice touch. You need something a little hardier if you're going to be doing more fighting though.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Yo.  
CB: Hey ali hows the game going for you???  
AN: I'm Managing.  
AN: My Sprite's a useless fucker though.  
CB: Oh o_O  
CB: What did you prototype???  
AN: A squid and Shaun.  
AN: Of the Dead variety.  
CB: Really???  
CB: Id have thought hed be really good in this sort of situation...  
AN: Well at Present he's Glubbing around in the Oasis outside.  
AN: Anyway, I didn't get in touch to Bitch. How's your Shit?  
CB: Alright actually!!!  
AN: Hey, you're pretty Tooled, right?.  
CB: Yeah this alchemy thing is pretty awesome!!!  
AN: What was that Armoured number you Whipped up?  
CB: You want to be fitted for a corset???  
CB: Tina would probably enjoy that... ^_^;;;  
AN: I'm not Crossdressing to satisfy her Bizarre Genderqueer Fetishes.  
AN: Again.  
CB: X3!!!  
AN: Shut up. Do you have the Code for it?  
CB: Oh fine...  
CB: You might as well take the same ones as tina...  
CB: fz44444P  
CB: wYRMh1D3  
CB: F43841lS  
AN: Thanks.  
AN: I'm sure I should be able to Make something Interesting of these.  
CB: Wow thanks!!!  
AN: Oh, sorry.  
AN: Thank You, anyway.  
CB: Heh its alright hun ^_^  
CB: Go kick some dark kingdom arse!!!  
AN: Yeah...  
AN: Stay safe.  
CB: And you!!!

averseNotary [AN] ceased pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

 

You check through the codes on your Punch Designix. One of them is for a crystal ball. Probably more of her pagan paraphernalia. The Ambrosya Nodule, however, looks like it might have some interesting applications with more of your Hurricanoes gear.

Ambrosya Nodule && Theosophological Scroll = Djinn Egg

Huh. OK, you definitely cannot afford this right now. Where on earth are you going to find that much Quartz?  
The idea of raising your own djinn is pretty tempting though. You would feed it and pet it and call it George. Or something better. Probably something better.

Squidprint Eveningwear || Dragonscale Armoured Corset = Squidskin-Galvanised Garment

You do have to admit you were kind of hoping for a dragonscale waistcoat, but this rubbery material seems almost as robust with the added bonus of being more flexible and inkproof. It'll probably be warmer as well when the sun goes down and all the heat drains out of the desert. Also it might get a rise out of Shaunsprite, and anything that'll get that drip moving can't be that bad.  
There's got to be something you can put theosophology towards. You have a brainwave, and unclasp the pendant you always wear.

St. Christopher && Theosophological Scroll = Traveller's Aide

Five thousand? You've never even seen that category of Grist before. Well, it's not like you have enough to satisfy any of the other Grist requirements either. It must be totally rad though. Well, you could try it with something else.

St. Christopher && Prototype Morning Star = Silverstar Companion

Wow, this thing is heavy. Figures that a mace-head made of silver would be pretty dense, you suppose. All the better to crush heads with. Finally, a weapon you can reliably expect to damage the enemy more than you.  
You're not sure how long the spikes will remain sharp considering silver's softness. But either way it looks The Business. And that's really all that matters, when you get right down to brass tacks.

Theosophological Scroll || Laptop = Scrollbook

Oh yes. Fuck yes. Fuck tablet computers. You've just eclipsed them with one bold stroke. It's like all the gullible schlubs scrabbling at their pathetic iPads looked up from their overpriced hunks of shit for a single moment to see the sun blotted out from the sky, cried out in one deafening cacophony of envy and were silenced. Y'know, if they hadn't already been silenced by the meteors and shit.  
...Awkward.

Scroll Tube || Scrollbook = Scrollbook Station

Rechargeable spoolable computing on the go. Could your hot new gadget get any sweeter? Not fucking likely.  
You still have a bunch of squid going spare. Um. You guess this might work?

Squid || Pen = Quill of Squid Pro Quo

Oh for fuck's sake. Fifty thousand Tar is just a goddamn ridiculous amount of Grist to demand. You guess you'll leave this code for Barty, she seems to be better at farming Tar from what you've seen.

Right, you're officially tired of this Alchemy nonsense. Now what?

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

AN: Evening.  
JW: it's morning over here actually.  
AN: Yeah, Strictly speaking it was morning in LA as well, but this desert's got Hells of Sunset going on right now.  
AN: Where are You now, Anyway?  
JW: in the game.  
JW: land of beats and wheels.  
JW: mostly just rivers and waterwheels to be honest.  
AN: Oh.  
AN: That Still sounds pretty Cool.  
JW: i guess so.  
JW: i haven't really been exploring yet.  
AN: No, me neither.  
JW: well, you should. you're tooled up now.  
AN: Yeah, I'm just Reluctant to Embark on a Journey when night is likely to hit and Freeze my Bollocks off.  
JW: ok, ali, i see what you're saying.  
JW: but when the name of your land is the land of dusk and wishes, i think you can probably count on night not falling any time soon.  
AN: Yeah, but this place is safer than out there. It's Elevated, it's Defensible, I can Alchemise food and other essentials in case of a siege...  
JW: dude. i already told you.  
JW: this is not that kind of a game.  
JW: you go round.  
JW: you kill the bad guys.  
JW: you get kickarse superpowers.  
JW: you do not hole up and wait for the bad guys to come to you.  
AN: What if Barty needs me?  
JW: you've got that scroll computer thing.  
AN: Oh. Yeah.  
JW: when you start finding gates you'll find it easier to get back anyway.  
AN: I don't have any Particular desire to Get Back. I'd much Prefer to hook up with you guys.  
JW: well you can't do that unless you start finding gates or getting enough grist for me to build up to yours for you.  
AN: Ugh.  
AN: I'm sure Barty will be along soon anyway. We can team up and explore this land Together.  
JW: you need to get started yourself.  
JW: just trust me on this.  
AN: Why do you Insist on Doing that?  
JW: what?  
AN: Invoking some Ineffable Prescience in order to get me to do Shit?  
JW: it's pretty effable really.  
AN: Nuh Uh.  
AN: Shit is wicked Ineffable.  
JW: is not.  
AN: Is so.  
JW: ok this is pretty much the stupidest thing we could be doing with our time.  
AN: Well, if you'd actually Clue me in on how the Fuck you know everything there is to know, Somehow, we could get on with things.  
JW: i don't actually know everything.  
AN: You know more than me. Plz to be Sharez?  
JW: now's not the time.  
AN: See This Is Exactly What I'm Talking About.  
JW: look dude, we can have this conversation later.  
JW: i've got a lot on my plate at the moment.  
AN: Like what?  
JW: can't say.  
AN: Well There's The Surprise Of The Fucking Century.  
JW: do you think i'm any more thrilled about this than you?  
JW: do you think i enjoy holding out on you guys?  
JW: do you think i'd be doing it if i had any choice in the matter?  
JW: there is some serious business going down over here, my friend, and if you get involved right now your shit will get ruined in ways that really will be ineffable.  
JW: because no-one will have invented the language yet to describe the horrible means of your gruesome and pointless death.  
AN: OK, OK, fine. You made your Point.  
AN: Are you sure you're Going to Manage by Yourself?  
JW: dude, if i need your help i will ask for it.  
JW: thanks, but if you get involved you'll only put yourself in danger.  
AN: Right.  
AN: Just take care of yourself, OK?  
JW: hey, i've got things covered.  
JW: don't worry about me.  
JW: get out there and catch up with the others!  
AN: As you Wish.

jocularWordsmith [JW] ceased pestering averseNotary [AN]

 

Well, that sounds pretty conclusive. You suppose you should hop to it.  
You captchalogue your scrollbook and the rest of your gear (except the Incredibly Shitty Mace. Shaunsprite can have that) and head out. You decide to leave a note behind, just in case the others stumble across this place before you catch up with them.

Dear All,

On the Sage Advice of Whobes, have decided to venture out into the desert in the hope of earning enough Grist to Depart this Forsaken rock and never darken its Proverbial door again. Am heading East, or away from the sun at any rate. (Does anyone know Whether the Celestial Bodies in our Lands Adhere to the same Principles as those of our dearly departed Earth?)  
If you find Yourself reading this, I hope you have more luck Extracting anything of use from my Sprite than I. I don't know what I was Thinking, but Apparently he's stuck in about his first act Level of Ability. Perhaps he'll grow a pair in parallel with my own Progression, although I feel that may be too much to hope for.

Good Luck to you,

Ali

You step out, beneath the dying embers of the sun that will never set, colouring the sky with a fey, otherworldly indigo light that hangs like a cloak over the eternally chill desert and the steely blue flames scattered in every direction. The large cluster you noted before are to the East. You figure if you're going to find any kind of civilisation out here that direction is probably your best chance. Fire is a definite sign of civilisation, right?  
Right?

You equip your Silverstar Companion and prepare yourself for the worst.

Spritelog:

SHAUNSPRITE: Hey!

Oh, what now.

Spritelog:

ALI: What is it?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Are you heading off?  
ALI: Well, yeah. Apparently I'm Required to.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Glub.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Yeah, I think it's kind of important that you go.  
ALI: Why's that?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Well for one, you have to go help your friends. There's no 'I' in 'team'.  
ALI: Yeah, I know. You Mentioned.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Well, it's true.  
ALI: Of course it's Fucking true. But it doesn't make it any less of an Asinine thing to say.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Hey, whoa. Whoa. I didn't ask to be your Sprite, you know. This isn't exactly a picnic for me either.  
ALI: You could be more Helpful.  
SHAUNSPRITE: What do you want me to do?  
ALI: I Dunno, go Apeshit with a Cricket Bat or something.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Really?  
ALI: It's what you Do.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Really, I think I'd remember doing something like that.  
ALI: You know what? Whatever. This is Stupid anyway.  
ALI: Please yourself, I'm going to go get myself Messily Dismembered in this Desert since that's what Everyone's so Fucking Lubed Up For.  
ALI: Don't touch my stuff.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Er, OK.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Ali...  
ALI: What?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Glub.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I'm glad you're going to pursue your destiny.  
ALI: My what?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Isn't that, uh, what you're doing?  
ALI: I'm going to try and kill enough of those Cephalopodian Monstrosities for Whobes to Grist my way out of this hole.  
SHAUNSPRITE: OK. But you should definitely pursue your destiny some time.  
ALI: What does that even mean?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Um.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I think it means saving the land? Or something?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Either way saving the land is probably a good thing to do.  
ALI: If I have Time I'll Think about it.  
ALI: It's not like it's a Real land or anything.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Real how?  
ALI: This is all part of the Game.  
ALI: I'm not 100% on how it all works yet, but I'm fairly sure this is like Virtual Reality or Something. And you're not Real Either.  
SHAUNSPRITE: What makes you say that? Course I'm bloody real.  
ALI: You're not though. You're a Ginger squid with a shit Goatee.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I'm strawberry blond.  
ALI: Whatever!  
SHAUNSPRITE: Anyway, real or not, we're kind of all you've got now.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Earth is gone.  
ALI: Shut up!  
SHAUNSPRITE: I'm sorry. But it's true.  
ALI: We are not Having this Conversation right now.  
ALI: I am Leaving. I am Finding my Friends.  
ALI: We are finding a way to Fix this Miserable Fucking Mess and then we are going to Go Home.  
SHAUNSPRITE: ...  
ALI: What?  
SHAUNSPRITE: I hope you find a way.  
ALI: Yeah.  
ALI: See you.  
ALI: Wait.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Yes?  
ALI: I've left my Laptop in my room.  
ALI: If one of my Friends messages and I don't Reply first...  
SHAUNSPRITE: What?  
ALI: I dunno.  
ALI: Can you tell if Something happens to me?  
ALI: Is that one of your Sprite Powers?  
SHAUNSPRITE: I don't know. Maybe?  
ALI: Well, play it by Ear.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I don't really have ears.  
ALI: Whatever, then.  
ALI: Just...  
ALI: Tell them I love them.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Alright.  
SHAUNSPRITE: Gayyy...  
ALI: What was That?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Glub?  
ALI: Did you just Call me Gay?  
SHAUNSPRITE: Um...  
ALI: Did You Just Fucking Use The Word Gay As A Pejorative To Refer To Me?  
ALI: It's not even your Fucking Line, Arsehole.  
SHAUNSPRITE: I'm sorry OK, I take it back!  
ALI: You're Goddamn Right You Do.

You've clearly wasted enough time round here. Time to go unlock your hidden superpowers, or die trying. What was Shaunsprite even talking about with the whole destiny thing? There's nothing in this stinking land to save, just sand and fire and more sand. And imps, but you can't imagine he was talking about those.  
Well, with any luck you'll run into a few soon and make a few more deposits into your hoard. If you're going to escape this sand trap you need to replenish your stocks after your alchemy binge.  
Ah, perfect. A duo of imps, squabbling over-- is that one of your Perfectly Generic Objects? How the thundering fuckbags did they get hold of that?  
Time to introduce them to your big spiky metal friend.


	10. chik. lets be geckoes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we focus on Tina, her difficulties with her new weapons, her first contact with the rather paranoid consorts of her land, and her endeavours to proceed through the first of her gates.

You are now the Seer. Although right at this moment you're still having trouble Seeing how exactly you're going to make it up this bloody cliff face. You've tried pretty much every trick in the book for magically assisted flight. You even tried grinding up an Ambrosya Nodule and sprinkling it over yourself just in case you had to Peter Pan your way up there, but no dice. It's so frustrating! Why didn't China give you more indication of what you were supposed to do? It's not like you can go back with your metaphorical cap in hand and just straight up ask him what the hell you're supposed to be doing, that'd be humiliating.

You hate this game! You hate this ridiculous quest! You hate this stupid cliff! You just want to sma--  
Oh. Um. Apparently the Needlewands also cut through rock. That would've been useful to know half an hour ago. You really kind of wish you were a Witch or a Mage or something. Trying to figure out how to use these things is so much trial and error. It's not really anything like Hurricanoes. For one thing you're all on your own. Not that that's a particularly new development.

You've managed to carve yourself something approaching a portal in the cliff face to step through. You send another wave of force through the wands to shatter the weakened rock, which crumbles to reveal...more rock.

This is going to take a while.

You are now a significantly more tired Seer, currently standing on an increasingly large pile of excavated rubble. You at least have had the good sense to cut an upward path, which has the added advantage of letting gravity doing most of the work of emptying out the blasted rock for you, although at this rate it's going to take the rest of the week just to get high enough to jump for the gate. There has to be an easier way to do this.   
You wish you knew where all that croaking was coming from. You've not seen a single frog since you arrived. Have the imps eaten them all? Scared them all away? Not so far away that you can't hear their incessant 'ribbit' 'ribbit'. It's really kind of driving you round the bend.  
Another cut completed. Bam. Another force blast.   
Wait, this one's different to the others. What's that noise? It's kind of a clicking, chittering sound.  
...Ooooookay. You appear to have disturbed a lizard of some kind that was hiding in the cave you just inadvertently busted into. A little, uh, blue, bipedal lizard with a long tail and a frantically flapping mouth.

Consortlog:

TINA: Hey, Calm Down! I Didn't Mean To Startle You.  
GECKO: Chikchikchikchikchik!  
TINA: Sorry. I'm Not Going To Hurt You.  
GECKO: Chikchikchikchik!  
TINA: I'm just going to come up into your cave if it's alright...  
GECKO: Chikchikchikchikchikchikchik!  
TINA: Oh, Fine. Seems We're At A Bit Of An Impasse Then.  
GECKO: Chikchikchikchikchik...  
GECKO: Why did you blow a hole in my lovely cave?  
TINA: I...Pardon?  
GECKO: This was a nice cave! Now there's a big hole in it! You're going to let all those horrid things come in and get me!  
TINA: You Can Talk?  
GECKO: Of course I can, I'm just more inclined to shout because of the way you just ruined my perfectly delightful cave!  
TINA: No, I Mean, Obviously It's Alright For You To Shout. But Why Can You Talk?  
GECKO: Why wouldn't I be able to talk? It's awfully rude to make assumptions about the capabilities of other beings before you have a chance to get to know them!  
TINA: I Wasn't...Never Mind.  
GECKO: Quite right too! Now what exactly do you intend to do about the incredible danger you've placed me in?  
TINA: Danger From What?  
GECKO: The horrid things I was shouting about before!  
TINA: You Mean Those Imps?  
GECKO: What? No, I mean those dreadful scampery monsters with the teeth and the evil slitted eyes!  
TINA: Those Are Imps.  
GECKO: Oh my!  
TINA: Please Calm Down! You're Really Kind Of Abusing This Whole Indignant Shouting Thing.  
GECKO: Sorry! I suppose I'm kind of excited to have something to shout over. It's been a while, I've been hiding in here so they didn't get me!   
GECKO: Except now you've come along and everything is ruined!  
TINA: If You'll Let Me Come Up And Use Your Cave For A Moment I Can Probably Do Something About That.  
GECKO: Well I'm not sure how I feel about that, to be honest! Maybe you're a Dersian agent in disguise! You look pretty peculiar, if you don't mind me saying!  
TINA: I Do Mind, As A Matter Of Fact.  
GECKO: Chikchikchik!  
TINA: Don't Think You Can Get Out Of Apologising For Being Rude By Chikking At Me.  
GECKO: I think I'm entitled to be a bit short with someone who just demolished part of my home!  
TINA: Will You Please Stop Complaining About That And Let Me Fix It?  
GECKO: No! You're a Dersian spy!  
TINA: If I'm A Dersian Spy Then Do Something About It! Take Me To Your Leader And Have Me Explain Myself To Them!  
GECKO: I don't much care for all your shouting!  
TINA: Would You Prefer To Just Stay Here And Shout At Me Until The Imps Notice Us And Come Here To Kill You Or Eat You Or Whatever It Is Imps Do To Infuriating Lizards?  
GECKO: I'm not an infuriating lizard! I'm a gecko!  
TINA: You're A Pain In The Arse.  
GECKO: Well, I never!  
TINA: Well Now You Have. I Suggest You Have A Great Big 'Oh My' About That And Then Move On.  
TINA: And By Move On I Mean Get Out Of My Way And Find Another Bolthole To Cower In.  
GECKO: No, I shan't! I must alert the High Chancellor this very instant!  
TINA: You Have A High Chancellor?  
GECKO: Well she's kind of just a regular chancellor but she lives near the top of the cliff, so we call her the High Chancellor!  
GECKO: It sounds more impressive, don't you agree?  
TINA: Please Can You Take Me With You?  
GECKO: No! I'm sure it's one of your cunning Dersian tricks and you're going to assassinate her or something equally dastardly!  
TINA: Well Then I Suppose I Shall Follow You Anyway.  
GECKO: Oh no! Please don't do that!  
TINA: I Will.  
TINA: Unless You Help Me.  
GECKO: If I help you do you promise not to bother me or hurt the High Chancellor?  
TINA: I Promise.  
GECKO: Alright, I suppose I can help you, so long as it's not too awful!  
TINA: Can You Show Me A Way To Reach The Gate Above My House?  
GECKO: The gate? What's a gate?  
TINA: It's A Little Difficult To Explain.  
TINA: It Sort Of Looks Like A Big Green Squiggly Circle Thing With Lots of Other Smaller Squiggly Things Inside It.  
GECKO: I suddenly understand!  
GECKO: But what's a house?  
TINA: Can You Just Show Me How To Get A Bit Higher Up And Onto The Outside Of The Cliff Again? I Might Be Able To Show You.  
GECKO: I suppose!  
TINA: Also Can You Stop Shouting Now Please, Now That You're Going To Help Me?  
GECKO: I thought that showing you around was helping you?  
TINA: Not Shouting Every Single Word That Crosses Your Tiny Gecko Mind Would Also Help.  
GECKO: Wow you are pretty demanding for a Dersian spy!  
TINA: Can We Go? Please? Now?  
GECKO: OK!

The gecko proceeds to scrabble out of the little cave, and into a wider warren of tunnels, while you follow with difficulty. The ceiling of the tunnels are much lower than comfortable, and you have to almost double over to be able to walk through them. It's dark as well, so you flip open your mobile and let the pale blue light illuminate the path for you. The gecko leading you gets into a flap about this for a while, but you manage to get it to pipe down by playing some music through it, which it seems to like. From the light it provides, you spy a few other geckoes hiding out, hailed by the gecko leading you, who loudly babbles about how it's helping a Dersian spy so that it doesn't try to assassinate the High Chancellor. The other geckoes are soon chikking in disapproval and alarm at this entirely fictional turn of events, and join your little procession, tutting and chattering among themselves. You try and assuage their worries at first, but it appears they're all determined to assume the worst. It doesn't actually stop them doing anything other than gossip though. You suppose that's alright. It gives you a chance to listen to them and try and pick up a little more information about the land.

From what you can gather there's some sort of terrible monster lurking down at the bottom of the cliffs, where the rocks meet the sea. Some kind of dragon that can walk on water. They say it can paralyse a gecko with a single stare, and that it was brought to life by the Dark Kingdom to devour all of geckokind. Some of them think you're an associate of the dragon. Others think you've come to negotiate terms for surrender to the Dark Kingdom rather than face doom as the dragon's food. Some even think you are the dragon, taking on a strange, squishy form so as to lure them all into a cunning trap and gobble them up. None of them seem particularly hostile though. It's rather odd. You half expect one of them to shout something inflammatory and then to have to try to fight your way out of a bunch of flailing lizards, which would be a terrible situation for everyone involved.

You try and bring up the topic of the High Chancellor, as diplomatically as possible. Mostly you get more 'chik'ing. Although a couple of the more garrulous geckoes impart that the High Chancellor hoards a large, possibly the largest collection of Boondollars in the Land, and one of the reasons she chose to live so far up the cliff was to protect her massive fortune. No-one seems to know from where her uncountable riches sprung though. You make a mental note to drop by on this High Chancellor and see if you can wring a morsel of actual sense out of someone on this rock. She must have some semblance of intelligence if she rose to a position of seniority over this peanut gallery. Before you can press this line of inquiry much further, however, you spy daylight, and the tunnel opens up into a little promontory which juts out over your house, the Gate, and far, far below, through the mist and cloud, the sea.

The little hubbub of geckoes hang back, chattering amongst themselves with a kind of hushed awe as the first one you met, a gecko you have taken subconsciously to calling Blabber, leads you up to the cliff's edge.

Consortlog:

BLABBER: Well, here we are!  
TINA: Thank You. You Know, I Wasn't Actually Sure You Would Know What I Was Talking About, But That's Definitely My House. And The Gate.  
BLABBER: You're welcome!  
TINA: I Don't Suppose Whether You Know If It's Safe To Drop Into It Or Not?  
BLABBER: Don't have a clue!  
TINA: As I Thought. Well, You've Been Helpful, Blabber. I Hope I Can Repay Your Kindness Some Day.  
BLABBER: What is Blabber?  
TINA: Oh, I Beg Your Pardon. Do You Have A Name?  
BLABBER: Of course I have a name!  
TINA: May I Ask What It Is?  
BLABBER: Yes!  
TINA: ...What's Your Name?  
BLABBER: I'm not telling you, you're a Dersian spy!  
TINA: Oh My God.  
BLABBER: You can call me Blabber if you like though, I like it!  
TINA: You Are A Very Peculiar Gecko, Blabber. I Hope You Stay Safe.  
BLABBER: You are very strange as well, Dersian. I hope your armies don't kill us all in our sleep.  
TINA: I'll Do My Best To Make Sure They Don't.  
TINA: My Name Is Tina, By The Way.  
BLABBER: OK!  
TINA: I Get The Impression You're Not Going To Remember That.  
BLABBER: Probably not!  
TINA: OK. Oh, One Last Thing. There's A Maimed-Looking Half-Tokai Half-Man Thing Down In My House. His Name Is China And He's Lovely.  
TINA: If You Do Get Into Trouble Please Go Down And Ask Him To Help. Tell Him I Sent You.  
BLABBER: I will! Thank you!  
BLABBER: I didn't know you were friends with a tokai! I distrust you marginally less now!  
TINA: I'm Honoured.

You notice the other geckoes are chikking amongst themselves in a hushed manner, and backing away meekly. You turn around. A huge, gold, scaly hand has just curled around the edge of the cliff. To your sides, a small gang of imps of every shade you've encountered thus far are streaming up the sides of the cliff, angling for a good position to pounce from.

Consortlog:

TINA: Get Inside!  
BLABBER: Can't you talk them down?  
TINA: No!  
BLABBER: But I thought-  
TINA: Move! Now!

You hustle the diminutive lizard into the safety of the tunnel with its companions, and draw your Octarine Needlewands. The imps see the crackling of the eightfold arcane energies and it gives them pause, at least until you send a crackling violet bolt of force at the meaty arms currently clawing their way up and over the precipice. You manage to dislodge one of them, but the other stubbornly holds fast, and your aggression spurs an all-out attack by the imps, who dive at you, tentacles, tails and other miscellaneous appendages a-whipping.  
You abscond the fuck out of the way. There is cover in the tunnel, and the geckoes are more than happy to yield ground and let you fight it out on their behalf.  
The mob of imps, mostly recovering from their failed pounces, surge towards you. You fell the first three with quick lashes of octarine-laced tendrils, then throw out a veritable cat's-cradle of majikally-charged yarn to stall the rest. They won't be getting through that any time soon. You risk a glance over your shoulder. The geckoes are cowering together, watching as you attempt to fend off the Dersian force.

Consortlog:

TINA: All Of You, Get Out Of Here! They're After Me, Not You!  
BLABBER: You said you were a Dersian spy!  
TINA: You Said That!  
BLABBER: Well you didn't deny it!  
TINA: I Tried!  
BLABBER: I thought we'd be safe if we helped you!  
TINA: You Will Be Safe If You Go!

You turn around again. There is a mounting pile of Grist at the foot of the cat's cradle, as the jostling imps shove the luckless first ranks into the trap, either too stupid to notice their companions are being fried by it, or too callous to care. It's working, though. Half of the strands have already shorted out. Behind the mob, you can see the lumbering beast clambering over the edge at last. It's easily four times bigger than the imps. Oh dear.  
You summon up your reserves of frustration and grief, and brandish your Needlewands, shrieking a cry of defiance as you do so. The resultant wave of sonic energy shatters what remains of the cradle, KOs half of the remaining imps and blasts the others out of the tunnel and sends them sprawling out on the promontory, scattered about. Even the golden brute, ungainly and slow, wobbles a little with the dissipated force, taking its time getting to its feet. You throw another look over your shoulder.

Consortlog:

TINA: Get To China. He'll Protect You.  
TINA: And Don't Let Tess Push You Around.  
BLABBER: Wait, what are you going to do?  
TINA: I Don't Know.   
TINA: But Don't Look Away. It's Going To Be Bloody Impressive.

With a bravado born of coming out the other side of terror, you charge up the tunnel, out into the daylight and swing your weapon with a daring flourish. There is a hideous crack, and the earth moves. You realise the promontory is coming away from the side of the cliff, and will surely fall. In that moment it takes you to look up, the huge golden brute realises as well, and roars in impotent rage. Those few imps still fit to stand are galvanised by the horrible sound, and leap -- for you, for the cliff, for anything more solid than the rock about to crash through the roof of your house. You duck under the attentions of the two boldest imps, and with an athleticism you last displayed sometime before being fitted for your first training bra, you leap onto the giant's extended knee -- which doesn't yield like flesh, but is rigid like a shell or bizarre alien exoskeleton. In the same movement you spring off, and, jack flapping behind you, dive headlong for the gate as the hopeless, helpless fiend falls with the cliff's edge in your wake.  
All is white.

The sky opens up before you, and you feel the heavy hand of gravity once more as you fall. The giant enemy's roars still echo in your head, as the ground rushes up to meet you.


	11. Avaunt him As Though he were Aflame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we stop in with Ali, experience his desert travails, encounter some rather belligerent Consorts, and the Snarky Horseshit-ometer gets a thorough workout.

You are now the mace-wielding dandy.

You've made good progress today. At least, you think you have. The desert is a lot more sprawling than you thought, and slogging through the sand dunes is surprisingly tiring. Although you occasionally come across an imp or two (who assisted you in ascending to the rank of TIMOROUS RAPSCALLION), mostly it's silent. And that's what really gets to you. You like quiet as much as the next introverted artistic sort, but this kind of soulless silence is highly unnerving. A guy could go crazy like this, trudging aimlessly in perfect saturnine hush, disturbed only infrequently by the occasional desperate scrap for one's life through the employment of grotesquely cartoonish ultraviolence. You hope you haven't already flipped off the handle. That would really be more than you could stand. Being complicit in the slaughter of 6.5 billion people and losing your marbles in the same day? Talk about a downer.

Anyway, you've had quite enough trekking through the desert for one day, and as luck would have it, you came across an outcrop featuring some ledges that could easily be pressed into use as shelter for the night.  
Well, not so much night as eternal sunset, but you're tired, dammit. You were tired when Barty dragged you into the game, and it hasn't exactly been a thrill ride since then.  
The cluster of azure flames you set out in the hope of reaching are a little closer, but you think it will probably take another three or four hours for you to reach them at your current pace. You really wish you'd had the Grist and the components to Alchemise together some kind of vehicle. Maybe when you find Whobes or whoever you meet when you get off this rock, you can combine your resources and make some kind of sweet-arse dune buggy. Or a hovercraft or something. Didn't he say his land was mostly rivers? You consult your Scrollbook.  
Hm. For some reason, you can't access that last Pesterchum conversation with Whobes. Oh well. You open Gristtorrent and have a peek at how the others are getting on. Tina's still lagging behind a bit, with you in the middle and Barty way out in front. Whobes...you can't actually tell how much Grist he has, it keeps fluctuating. It seems to be a lot. You decide it's probably a good idea not to leech from him for now. Something about the way he was trying to get you to back off gives you the impression you shouldn't draw attention to yourself around him. You're beginning to rethink the wisdom of wacky dune buggy adventures in the Land of Rivers and Shenanigans or whatever he called it.  
According to Pesterchum (which, you idly wonder, must be pretty damn robust in order to keep working past the destruction of the Earth) Tina and Barty are both marked as inactive, probably off doing their own destiny-seeking things or whatever the Game has decided to lay out for them. You're not really interested at the moment. Too tired. Whobes is online and active, but you decide against bothering him.

You huddle underneath one of the lower ledges of rock, and start to empty out your sylladex to use as a windbreak. You don't want sand rushing in if the wind picks up. You prop up your reclaimed Perfectly Generic Object by your head and drape a waistcoat over it for a pillow. Your Silverstar Companion is by your hand, ready to be picked up if you're ambushed. Even with this worry in the back of your mind, you can feel sleep coming over you quickly. It's been a busy day. Even with the myriad worries niggling at the edges of your mind, you encounter little resistance in your steady surrender to blissful, dreamless sleep.

Consortlog:

?: What is it, Mama?  
?2: Leave it alone, Son. It might be one of their tricks.  
?: It's making funny noises, Mama!  
?2: Son, leave it alone! We have to meet up with the others.

Your eyes fly open. You can feel a small hand rubbing your head, and sit bolt upright. Well, you attempt to and bang your head on the overhanging rock. You yelp in pain and let off a few choice expletives to convey your particular distaste for this method of awaking.  
You squint around to see what was bothering you. Why are you lying under a rock, anyway? Is that sand-- oh, boy. Yep, you remember this. Christ.  
There's a small red lizardy looking thing, backing away from you in alarm on two hind legs. Behind it, a larger version is watching, its hackles raised. Well, not strictly hackles, it's a lizard. But there is something about it that makes you consider it probably should not be messed with lightly.

Consortlog:

ALI: What are you Doing?  
?2: Don't touch my Son! You'll pay!  
ALI: I -- what?  
?2: Stay where you are! Blap!  
ALI: Shit! Wow, OK, I'm not moving. Calm Down.  
?: Mama?  
?2: Come here, Son. Careful. Don't turn your back. And don't let it touch you.  
ALI: I'm not moving!  
?2: Good, Son. It's alright. You're safe now.  
?: I don't like it, Mama, I'm scared.  
ALI: You don't have to be Scared of me. I don't want to Hurt you.  
?2: You're not fooling us, we heard those horrible things you were shouting.  
ALI: What? No, I was just Irritated because I banged my head. I didn't mean to give you the wrong Impression.  
?2: I'd say you gave exactly the right impression.  
ALI: No, don't go! I want to talk to you!  
?2: Come on, Son. We shouldn't spend any more time near this thing. It might attack.  
ALI: I'm not going to Attack!  
?2: Why do you have that hideous weapon then?  
ALI: What, my Mace? I need that to fight the imps!  
?2: Oh? And where exactly did you get it from?  
ALI: I...well, I made it.  
?2: Just like I thought. Come on Son.  
ALI: What? You're not making any Sense! Please--  
?2: I said stay where you are, Djinn! Blap-blap!  
ALI: Whoa, OK, cool down. Let's start again. I'm not a Djinn. My name is Ali. I'm, uh, I'm a human.  
?2: Of course you aren't. You must think we were hatched five minutes ago.  
ALI: I am. I Swear.  
?2: Prove it.  
ALI: Huh?  
?2: Prove it, then.  
ALI: I don't know what you Require me to prove. I have four fingers on each hand, Opposable thumbs, upright Gait--  
?2: I won't warn you again, Djinn! Stay where you are! Blap!  
ALI: Will you stop Calling me that?  
?2: You're another cursed Djinn, just like all the others. Well, you shan't have me or my Son.  
?: Mama, I'm scared.  
?2: It's alright, Son.  
ALI: I Seriously don't know what you're Talking About! If you'd stop Spitting Fire every five seconds maybe we could Hash this out and you could help me.  
?2: Oh, I'm sure you'd like that.  
ALI: Yes, I Would?  
?2: We haven't evaded the slavers so long by being gullible. I'm not about to start now.  
ALI: Slavers? What slavers?  
?2: You're committed to this 'human' guise, aren't you?  
ALI: Are the Djinn slavers? Is that what you're Afraid of?  
?2: I am not afraid! I didn't protect my Son this long by being afraid!  
ALI: OK, I didn't mean to touch a Nerve.  
ALI: But you don't want to be Enslaved. I get that. Who would?  
ALI: I mean, besides those folk who have the Interesting Control Issues. Not that that's Something we should Discuss in front of your Son.  
?2: I don't know what you're talking about, but we're leaving. Don't follow us.  
ALI: Please don't Go!  
?2: I'll be warning the others to steer clear of you as well.  
ALI: What others? Wait, that wasn't meant to sound Nosy--  
?2: I'm not interested in any more of your lies, Djinn! Leave us alone!

Well, that could've gone a lot better. As the fierce little fire lizard thing and its child waddle off into the desert, you take stock. You have a couple of bottles of water left from what you managed to distil out of the taps. You're not quite to the point where you'll consider drinking oasis water, but you hardly think that's even an opportunity that's going to present itself in your immediate future. And in the meantime you've got the revelation of what is apparently a race of shapechanging Djinn to contend with. Because you didn't already have enough to worry about navigating this desert and working with an absolute load of a sprite. You suppose on the upside you're a little closer to that flame cluster you were hoping to reach yesterday. Or not yesterday, whatever the case might be. The sun, assuming that's even what it is, is still in exactly the same position it was when you fell asleep. It's actually kind of unnerving. According to your mobile you slept for something like five hours before that ridiculous Charmander expy started fucking with your haircut. You do feel a little more refreshed. But you should probably touch base with the others again before you set off. Unrolling your scrollbook, you can see people have been trying to do the same while you've been out. You suppose you ought to have left a note. Oops.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

VT: Ali.  
VT: You're A Gamer, I Need You To Clarify Something For Me.  
VT: That Wasn't A Barb Aimed At Riling You Before You Carry On Giving Me The Silent Treatment.  
VT: I Sincerely Require The Benefit Of The Expertise You Acquired Frittering Your Time Away On All Those Games Instead Of Spending Time With The People You Purportedly Cared About.  
VT: That Was A Barb With The Intention Of Riling You Into Responding Instead Of Carrying On With This Juvenile Silent Treatment Schtick.  
VT: Are you Actually Not There?  
VT: If You Are Actually Not There At Least Leave Me A Message When You Are So I Know You're Actually Not Just Being Incredibly Petulant.

voraciousThespian [VT] is now an idle chum!

AN: Hey.  
AN: You could just Request that I Help you without it Being a big Dramatic Issue.  
AN: I Realise I am not Particularly one to talk.  
AN: But I Assume that is a thing we are still Capable of doing.  
AN: I went AFK for a while in order to Sleep.  
AN: On account of me being Tired.  
AN: Any Passive-Aggression you Derived from my Inability to Respond was Unintentional.  
AN: And, if I may speak Candidly, indicates more about your Personal Attitude to our Friendship, such as it is, than anything you Inferred from the above Conversation you appear to have had with your Neuroses.  
AN: Anyway, should you still Require my Assistance I am now able to Provide it.  
AN: I'll keep my Scrollbook close at hand.

 

Man. What's got her goat all of a sudden. Actually, you probably shouldn't be too harsh. She is likely kind of out of her milieu at present. Strictly speaking you all are. A computer game that looks, feels and quacks like a LARP, except with less self-indulgent pinheads compensating for a great deal of personal inadequacies real and imagined by loping around a field quoting 300 incessantly.  
Well, they weren't all like that. But it would have been a lot more fun if there hadn't been quite so many of them.

 

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

JW: hey dude.  
JW: just touching base.  
JW: i'm exploring my land.  
JW: it's the land of beats and wheels. mostly rivers and waterwheels and stuff, it's pretty cool actually.  
JW: reckon you'd enjoy it more than a frostbitten desert.  
JW: but yeah maybe you should stay away for a while, i'm working out some stuff.

 

Huh?  
OK, something strange is definitely going on here.

 

AN: Whobes?  
AN: Are you there?  
JW: yo.  
AN: Just woke up and had time to Peruse your latest Battery of Missives.  
JW: did you read my message?  
JW: oh, cool.  
JW: how was your sleep?  
AN: Rocky.  
JW: where are you now?  
AN: Not Terribly far from my Entry point, in honesty.  
AN: Progress through this Accursed desert is rather Impeded by the lack of Suitable Expeditionary Equipment.  
AN: A Dune Buggy would be nice.  
JW: you're telling me. a hovercraft would be nice.  
AN: I Know, Right?  
AN: So are Things back to a more Manageable level in the Land of Beats and Wheels?  
JW: well, they're ok.  
JW: i've been on top of most of my shit for now to be honest.  
JW: there's some extra stuff i need to sort out but that's not important right now.  
AN: Anything I can Help With?  
JW: nah.  
JW: like i said bro.  
JW: i'll deal with this and then we should be rosy. i'll get you a groovy tower built and you can get going through your gates.  
JW: we'll be double teaming ogres and shit in no time.  
AN: Ogres?  
JW: not met any yet?  
JW: you'll know when you see them.  
JW: don't take them lightly.  
JW: well, you won't, but you know.  
JW: be careful.  
AN: Always.  
AN: Uh, good luck. With your Stuff.  
JW: thx bro.  
JW: you too.

jocularWordsmith [JW] ceased pestering averseNotary [AN]

 

...You're really not sure what to make of that. Had someone hacked his account earlier? Who could possibly have done that? He didn't sound quite right before though. Maybe it was someone else. Although strictly speaking the only people it could have possibly been are Tina and Barty, none of whom have the know-how, the motive, or the opportunity to do it. Something else? You're wracking your brain but nothing plausible is coming to mind. Given that your plausibility threshold has had its fucking roof blown off by recent events, your vain efforts to comprehend the exact nature of what the fuck is going on should serve only as testament to the magnitude of your puzzlement.  
Oh what is it now Tina

 

VT: Hey.  
VT: Your Propensity For Perversely Hypocritical Analysis Of Others' Personal Issues Appears To Be Undiminished, So I Shall Assume You Are In Good Health.  
AN: You Assume correctly, Princess.  
VT: You Do Realise You're Only Demeaning Yourself By Calling Me That.  
VT: It's Funny Actually. Every Time You Use That Word I Imagine You In That Ridiculous Getup From That Cartoon You Loved For Reasons Best Known To Yourself And I Have A Private Moment Of Amusement.  
AN: Yes we all know you want to see me sporting Figure-Hugging tights and a goofy hood this is not news  
AN: Stop your perverse Fantasising for one Goddamn second and get to the point.  
AN: Before I Assume the only reason you want to Talk is so you can type One-Handed and Remember the Good Old Days before you Descended into the Seamy pits of Insufferable Boho Fairydom.  
VT: Oh My God You Are Disgusting.  
VT: I Can't Believe I Let You Hit That. What Was I Thinking.  
AN: At the Time? Probably that I was the Best you'd Ever Had.  
VT: Best Out Of A Field Of One Also Means Worst I'd Ever Had, You Conceited Moron.  
VT: And Rather A Boho Fairy Than A Petulant And Vicious Manchild.  
AN: My God Woman are you going to sling your Lacklustre burns around all Sunset or are you Actually going to Share whatever Trivial Problem was Burdening your Miserably Incapable Intellect.  
VT: I'm Insulted That You Think I'm Incapable Of Performing The Two Simultaneously.  
VT: Anyway, I Just Passed Through My First Gate And I'm At A Bit Of A Loss For How Precisely To Progress.  
AN: Shouldn't you be Aiming for the Next one?  
AN: I Gather that's the one that will send you to your Server's Land.  
VT: Well, Yes. But I Have No Idea Where It Is.  
AN: Can't you just Explore?  
VT: Sad To Say, That's Proving Exceptionally Difficult Seeing As I Can't Currently Move.  
VT: Mostly My Vectors For Progression Consist Of Up Or Down.  
AN: Can you Rappel?  
VT: Not Without A High Chance Of Falling To My Untimely Doom.  
AN: Hm. That kind of Sucks.  
VT: I Was Hoping You Would Have Some Sort Of Lateral Thinking Gamer's Intuition For This Kind Of Situation.  
VT: If I Had Wanted Commiserations I Would Have Contacted Someone Actually Capable Of Expressing Empathy.  
AN: Shut up, I'm Thinking.  
AN: What resources do you have?  
VT: My Octarine Needlewands, This scryBook, A Couple Of Ukeleles, My Armour, My Colourweavers...  
AN: What, pray tell, are Colourweavers?  
VT: Paintbrushes Alchemised With Knitting Needles.  
AN: That is the Most Astonishing Waste of Grist I have ever heard of.  
VT: They Are Not! They Make My Modus About 1000% Less Of A Pain In The Arse.  
AN: Your Preference for that Ridiculous Modus is the only thing about this situation more Bewildering than that ridiculous waste of Finite Game Resources you call a Weapon.  
VT: If I Can Keep Them On Me Next Time I Go To Derse Then Things Will Be A Lot Easier.  
AN: What's Derse?  
VT: You Don't Know?  
AN: If I did I would Hardly have asked.  
VT: I'm Still Not Completely Certain Myself. Whobes Called It A Dream Land And Said That I Wasn't My Real Self While I Was There.  
VT: But When I Fell Asleep After Entering I Woke Up In A Weird Tower In A Purple Land.  
VT: I Think It's The Home Planet Of The Dark Kingdom.  
AN: Why the hell would you have a Split Dream Personality trapped on the Enemy's home planet?  
VT: You Have One Too.  
AN: What?  
VT: There's More.  
AN: I can't have. I was Asleep before and I slept Perfectly Normally.  
VT: Are You Sure?  
AN: Of course I'm sure.  
VT: What Did You Dream About?  
AN: I never Remember my Dreams. You know that.  
VT: Obviously.  
VT: Why Do You Think That Is?  
AN: Fuck if I know.  
AN: Loads of people never Remember their Dreams. Why do you care Suddenly?  
VT: Because I Saw You.  
AN: In Derse.  
VT: Yes.  
AN: What was I Doing?  
VT: Nothing. You Were Asleep.  
VT: Not Particularly Soundly, I Might Add.  
AN: Can you blame Dream Me?  
AN: Shit's freaking Bananas all up in Our Respective Businesses.  
AN: I had to Jump Off A Fucking Building.  
VT: No, That Wasn't Why.  
VT: The Tower You Were Imprisoned In Differed From Mine In One Important Respect.  
AN: What's that?  
VT: You Had A Skylight.  
AN: And?  
VT: And There Are Some Very Peculiar Beings In The Sky Over Derse.  
AN: Peculiar how?  
VT: Pants-Shittingly Terrifying.  
VT: They Tried To Speak To Me When They Noticed I Was Awake.  
VT: I Think They've Been Talking To You In Your Sleep.  
VT: That Is To Say, While Your Real Personality Is Asleep And Your Dream Personality Is More Receptive.  
AN: OK...  
AN: So what Manner of Things have they been Saying to you?  
VT: I, Uh...  
VT: I Don't Remember.  
AN: What.  
VT: I Remember Them Talking To Me But It Only Made Sense At The Time. I Can't Remember Now.  
AN: Right.  
AN: That's strikingly Helpful.  
VT: Sorry.  
VT: If It Helps You Should Be Able To Understand Them If You Ever End Up In Derse.  
AN: Yeah, it sounds like a Fucking Laugh Riot.  
AN: Unspeakable horrors, Incarceration, an entire Planet of the fucking Toerags that've been Attempting to Murderise Us.  
AN: Sign me up.  
VT: You'll Have To At Some Point.  
VT: Whobes Mentioned Something About Us All Having To Wake Up On Derse Eventually.  
VT: Or Prospan.  
AN: Prospan?  
VT: Yeah I Have No Idea.  
VT: I Think That's Where His Dream Personality Is.  
VT: And Probably Celeste's As Well.  
AN: Man, everyone has one.  
VT: Yeah. I Think Whobes' Must Already Be Awake As Well.  
AN: But he's been in the Game for even less time than you.  
VT: Uh. Actually, He Wasn't In The Game When He Told Me About Prospan And Derse.  
AN: ...Huh.  
VT: Yeah, It Didn't Strike Me As Strange At The Time.  
VT: Next To All The Other Strange Shit Going On.  
VT: But Yes, It Appears He Has Some Additional Information He's Been Hiding From Us.  
AN: That's putting it Mildly.  
AN: He just pulled Some Seriously Schizophrenic Shit on me. Snapping at me to Eschew Venturing into his Land and then Acting like it Weren't No Thang.  
AN: I don't know what the Fuck is going on with him.  
AN: But if I survive this Desert I'll be having Stern Words with that boy.  
VT: You And Me Both.  
AN: Well, in the Meantime, you're still Stuck on that Cliffside.  
VT: Thank You For The Update.  
AN: You're welcome.  
AN: Still require my Assistance?  
VT: Do I Have To Answer That Question?  
AN: I want to hear you say it.  
VT: You're An Arse.  
AN: What's that?  
AN: You're fine Figuring it out by Yourself?  
VT: Christ. Fine.  
VT: I Need Your Help.  
AN: OK.  
AN: This may sound Patronising.  
AN: You've got those Magic Needles, right?  
VT: Yes.  
AN: Have you Attempted to Fly off?  
VT: Allow Me To Answer That With A ¬_¬  
AN: OK, well, I'm trying to help out here. Just considering all our Options.  
AN: What about Blasting through the rock?  
VT: I've Been Doing That.  
VT: If I Tried That Here I'm Afraid I'd Knock Out The Entire Cliffside.  
VT: I've Not Got A Lot To Work With As It Is.  
AN: Shit.  
AN: Um.  
AN: Did you Bring any yarn or other Knitting Accountrements with you?  
VT: Uh, No.  
AN: Damn.  
VT: Why?  
AN: Because I Assume you could Enchant the Yarn to make it Substantially stronger and able to support your weight.  
AN: Thus Enabling you to Safely Rappel down the side of the cliff Until you find a cave or some other Means of Advancing.  
VT: But China Said I Need To Reach The Top To Light The Forge.  
AN: OK, let's go through this Systematically.  
AN: China?  
VT: I Reprototyped My Sprite.  
AN: Of Course you did.  
AN: How's he Working Out for you?  
VT: Pretty Well.  
VT: Did That Convey Precisely How Smug I Feel?  
VT: How About This:  
VT: Very Nicely, Thank You.  
AN: Yeah that's pretty Damn smug.  
AN: At least your Lizard didn't have to grow any Hair.  
VT: No, Just Some Rocking Biceps And A Fucking Awesome Tattoo.  
AN: Also: Forge?  
VT: I'm Afraid On That Count I Am Somewhat Less Well-Informed.  
VT: China Is Necessarily Not Particularly Indulgent With The Finer Details Of My Quest.  
AN: At least he knows Something.  
AN: Mine's a Useless Sack of Shit.  
AN: In fact, Considering his prototyping Enabled Tentacular and Ink-Spraying Options for our Enemies, he's Worse than Useless.  
VT: Oh, That's Your Fault?  
VT: I Ought To Have Known It Was You.  
AN: In my Defence Whobes never Mentioned that Prototyping with something like that would have such a Dire effect on the Imps.  
VT: Not Just The Imps.  
AN: Huh?  
VT: I Just Blasted A Huge Brutish Fiend Through My Gate.  
VT: It Was Sporting A Pair Of Prehensile Tentacles.  
VT: Had I Not Aggressed It From Range I Fear The Game Could Have Become Distressingly Predictable In Its Representation Of Tentacle-Adorned Behemoths.  
AN: I'm sorry.  
VT: Mostly I Blame Myself.  
VT: Actually That's Not True. Mostly You're An Idiot.  
VT: But I Blame Myself For Not Taking That Into Account.  
AN: In A Display of my Penance for Exposing you and the Others to this Additional and Unnecessary Hazard I will Weather your Scorn with Manful Stoicism.  
VT: Drawing Attention To Your Display Of 'Manful Stoicism' Rather Undermines The Point, You Realise.  
AN: I was Afraid you might not Notice Otherwise.  
AN: Or Possibly mistake my relative Silence for some Inexplicable and Irrational Act of Passive-Aggression on my part.  
VT: Ugh. Just Forget It, Alistair.  
AN: Did you Dispatch it?  
VT: What?  
AN: The big Tentacle Beastie.  
VT: In A Manner Of Speaking.  
AN: Meaning?  
VT: It Fell Through The Cliffside Where I Was Supposed To Land After Dropping Through My Gate.  
AN: Oh. Well, that Explains Everything.  
AN: Could you have Slain it had it Not?  
VT: I Don't Know.  
VT: Maybe?  
VT: I'm Not Really Entirely Aware Of The Extent Of My Skills At This Point.  
VT: I'm Mostly Feeling Out What These Wands Can Do By Trial And Error.  
AN: Well, have you Acquired any Superpowers yet?  
VT: Huh?  
AN: I am Told that is a Thing that Happens.  
VT: What Kind Of Superpowers?  
AN: Fuck if I know.  
AN: Like I said, my Sprite has Hardly been Forthcoming with Pertinent Information.  
VT: Well, When I Start Firing Lasers From My Eyes And Wearing Improbably Figure-Hugging Spandex You Will Be The First To Know.  
AN: Damn right.  
VT: Although Until That Happy Day Comes I Still Have The More Mundane Problem Of Being Stuck Here.  
AN: Oh yeah. I'd almost Forgotten.  
AN: Don't you have any Extraneous items of Clothing you could Cannibalise for the purpose?  
VT: I Suppose.  
AN: Why so Reticent?  
VT: I Really Like This T-Shirt.  
AN: ...  
AN: Check the Captcha Code. You can Alchemise a Duplicate next time you're by an Alchemiter.  
VT: Oh.  
VT: Yeah, I Guess I Can Do That.  
AN: Let me know how the Whole Rappelling thing works out.  
VT: Well, If You Don't Hear From Me Again, Assume Poorly.  
AN: Yeah, I got that.  
VT: I'll Let You Know If I Hear From Whobes.  
AN: Yeah.  
AN: Don't let on that we Know Anything.  
VT: Obviously.  
VT: I'll Let Celeste Know As Well.  
AN: No, wait.  
VT: Why?  
AN: We aren't fully Aware of her Personal Understanding of the Game.  
VT: You Think She's In Cahoots With Whobes?  
AN: We can't know for Sure.  
VT: She Didn't Seem To Have Any Particular Knowledge When She Was Trying To Help Me Enter.  
AN: She might've Played Dumb.  
VT: Are We Actually Second-Guessing Our Friends Now?  
AN: Yes.  
VT: Oh Great.  
VT: Thank You So Much For Clarifying That I Feel Miles Better.  
AN: Until I know for Precisely what Purpose we were brought here and by Whom I will second-guess Everyone I feel I need to.  
VT: What About Me?  
AN: Dammit Tina.  
AN: If you ask and I say Yes, it puts us both on the Defensive.  
AN: If you ask and I say No, you won't Trust my Answer anyway because the Fact you Asked will have Planted not only the Possibility of you not being Trustworthy in my head (if it isn't Already in there), but Furthermore the Fact you would Feel it Necessary to query it will cast Additional Doubt on your Integrity.  
VT: Fine, Forget I Asked.  
VT: Christ.  
AN: Hey, you don't need to tell Me this Sucks.  
AN: This whole Situation is Fucked.  
AN: And I don't Understand who Fucked us yet.  
AN: I hope it wasn't Whobes.  
AN: I don't Think it Was.  
AN: But I'm not Taking any Chances.  
AN: In the Meantime I'll be Trying to Gather What Information I can.  
VT: OK. I'll Keep This Under My Hat.  
AN: You've got a Hat?  
VT: Figure Of Speech.  
AN: Right.  
AN: Thank you.  
VT: Whatever Whobes Has Or Hasn't Been Party To, I'm Sure His Reasons For Doing So Were Sound.  
AN: They had Better Fucking Be.  
AN: Talk to you Soon.

averseNotary [AN] ceased pestering voraciousThespian [VT]

 

Welp. As if you didn't have enough to worry about what with this desert infested with at least two and possibly three factions of things that probably wouldn't mind horribly murdering you. Thrills. Speaking of which you should probably go find some more of them and see if you can't get a better idea of what the fuck you're actually supposed to be doing to get to your next gate, seeing as no-one else has apparently managed in the several hours you've been asleep. At least without hamstringing themselves in the process. It's embarrassing is what it is.


	12. Be the Corsetclad Skysalt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the spotlight falls on Celeste and we are treated to: a fleeting discussion on the correct nomenclature for masts, a trial of dubious legitimacy, the vagaries of consort economic systems and more pirate-y talk than you've heard since the 19th of September.

You are now the Maid.  
You've been a busy busy bee, of course, figuring out how to get this rather useless vessel moving in a becalmed sky. Turns out there are bellows below deck, that in the absence of wind can be used to provide minute amounts of thrust. What you wouldn't give for a stalwart crew of hearty sea dogs. Or sky dogs. Whatever. Pumping these bellows all by yourself has been a total chore! But according to your charts and your instruments, you should be able to sight land soon. And by land, you mean the settlement referred to on your map as Flotilla. Which as far as you can tell is just a bunch of boats lashed together, forming a community. But a community of what? This map looks fairly old, so it can't have been drawn by the invaders. But you've not seen anyone or anything else that could possibly have done it. Maybe it was just planted there by the game to make things easier for you. Even so, what would be the point of a town with no-one in it?  
You give the bellows one last squeeze, and head topside to climb the crow's nest. Although you wonder if it ought not to have another name, considering that no crow would be able to fly high enough to even spy it, much less build a nest there. The eagle's refuge, maybe? Something like that. Whatever. You climb up and have a bit of a squint.

Shiplog:

CELESTE: Land ho!

Not strictly land, per se. Damn, all your cool nautical terms are being stymied by this bloody sky buccaneer malarkey. Whatever. You're right on course for Flotilla, which is a relief considering without a crew even this diminutive ship has a turning circle of 'no'. You slip down from the eagle's refuge, which is definitely what you're calling it now considering it's so much cooler than 'crow's nest', which is not even a nest.

You rifle through your modus, bringing out your Exquisite Headpiece. If you're going to be docking here you want to make a good impression, and if ten years of LARPing have taught you anything (which they have, in abundance) the best way of doing that is with some outstanding headgear. Also a neat weapon. Luckily you have your Foam Master Sword, which will look the part if nothing else. You kind of wish you had access to your Alchemiter. You had a really good idea that you wanted to try out. Maybe you'll have chance later.

Man, this ship is coming in pretty slow. You take off your Exquisite Headpiece again and head below deck to pump the bellows a little more.  
When you emerge Flotilla is a lot closer. So close, in fact, you can actually see things moving around on its many decks. And, uh, flying between the masts that still stretch above them, though no sails are in evidence -- no point in this sky. As you drift closer, the figures present themselves in clearer focus: they are green, frilled lizard-looking creatures, apparently between two and three feet tall when they stand upright, which is what they appear to prefer when they are not stretching out the webbing between their limbs and their neck and gliding about the place. These, surely, must be the creatures to whom the boat you seized from the imps originally belonged.

They have spied you now as well -- largely occupied by their gliding about and what appears to be a meeting of sorts, you managed to steal a march on them. Now they are scuttling around the decks, wheeling out the cannons and generally giving the appearance of great agitation. Oh. Oh dear. In spite of your shouting and waving your arms, trying to draw their attention to the fact you're the only being alive on the ship, they busy themselves with the cannons. You wince and brace yourself for an impact. The cannon fires with a horrendous cracking boom, sending a shot screaming across your bow. They pause a moment, watching for your response. There are half a dozen cannon pointed at your small and suddenly very fragile-seeming boat.  
You slowly, and as calmly as you are able, extend your arms up.

Consortlog:

LIZARD: In the name of Flotilla, we be seizin' yer vessel an' all its trappin's.  
LIZARD: Ye be our prisoner t'be tried an' punished fer whatever crimes ye be deemed guilty of by our court.  
CELESTE: You have a court???  
LIZARD: Stow yer backtalk, prisoner! Ye'll only make it worse for yersel'.

Once the inhabitants of Flotilla had seen your surrender, they sent over a rowboat filled with stern looking lizards armed with cutlasses and staves with serrated, flexible jaws on the end. You imagine for grappling with foes from a distance. First thing they did when they boarded was surround you and strip you of your hat and your sword before binding your hands. So much for making a good impression.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: Excuse me but Id like to speak to your judge or elder please!!!  
LIZARD: Silence, ye fleshy swab! Ye'll have yer chance t'plead yer case.  
CELESTE: Its just I think theres been a misunderstanding...

One of the lizards armed with the jaw-tipped staff jabs it into the base of your neck, at which it has been poised for the last couple of minutes while the others have been searching the ship for any other crew members. You can feel a trickle of blood start to ooze down your neck unpleasantly, and decide to hold your tongue, at least until you get ashore and stand a better chance of actually speaking to someone important.  
In time the other lizards finish their search and report back to the lizard who insulted you before. His own frill is torn and considerably more ragged than the others, but in spite of this (or perhaps because of it) he seems to be their leader.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Well?  
LIZARD: Nary a soul on board, Captain.  
TATTERFRILL: Check again. May be a ploy t'reach Flotilla without weath'rin' the sting of our guns.  
LIZARD: Aye, Captain.  
TATTERFRILL: Prisoner! Which port did ye set sail from w'this vessel?  
CELESTE: I found it...  
CELESTE: There were imps on board!!! I think they wer--  
TATTERFRILL: Imps, ye say! Int'restin' yarn ye be spinnin' there. Where be they now then?  
CELESTE: I killed them...  
CELESTE: They turned into grist so i took it all...  
CELESTE: But I found a map in the cabin!!!  
CELESTE: It led me here...  
CELESTE: I was looking for a friendly port...  
TATTERFRILL: Well, ye be lookin' in the wrong sky, matey. The Land o' Sky and Lull ain't had a friendly port since the curse settled over us.  
TATTERFRILL: But then ye prob'ly know more about that than we do, don't ye? Take her to the brig!  
LIZARD: Arr. Captain?  
TATTERFRILL: What be the hold-up, ye decklickin' cur?  
LIZARD: Beggin' ye pardon, Captain, this ship b'ain't havin' a brig.  
TATTERFRILL: ...Well then tie her to the mizzenmast do I have to explain anything to ye motherless lubbers!  
LIZARD: ...Sir there be another problem.  
TATTERFRILL: What now?  
LIZARD: This tub ain't got the masts for a mizzenmast. There be three but n'more.  
TATTERFRILL: You limp-frilled scabrous scurvy bilge-rat! Just tie 'er t'something and bring the damned vessel into port!  
LIZARD: Ayeaye, Captain!

Oh boy. If their judiciary are as incompetent as their navy you're in trouble.  
You acquiesce willingly enough to being tied to the non-mizzenmast. It would only embarrass everyone if you had to be dragged, after all. And you want it to count in your favour that you were compliant with their arrest, on the off-chance it wins you any favour later.  
To this end you attempt to strike up a conversation with the luckless lizard who got the bawling out by Tatterfrill, but it simply goggles at you, as if in awe that the huge pink scaleless thing it's trussing up is capable of speech, before turning and standing guard as the other lizards scutter across the ship and below deck, bringing her about for the dock. You have to admit, what they lack in smarts they seem to make up for in seaman-- uh, sealizardship. Noteworthy.  
The short time it takes for the ship to come in passes uneventfully enough, and you are untied and led off the ship, not unkindly, although there are certainly enough lizards gawking at you and your slightly dishevelled appearance. Dammit. You were going to dazzle them with your fantastic style, as well.  
Tatterfrill assumes responsibility for shepherding you through the crowd. Unsurprisingly he is given a wide berth by the population as he waddles up to a wizened conclave of hunched lizards with flaking scales and rheumy eyes. Their frills are larger and droopier than any of the others you've seen. You wonder if it corresponds to some weird social status thing among these creatures. Nothing would surprise you at this point, honestly.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: We caught this one, me lords. Only soul aboard ship. Started spinnin' us some mad tale about imps. She were armed with this.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: Thank ye, Captain.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: What manner of creature be it? It ain't garbed in any deckin' o' Derse, that's for sure.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: This sword be no metal I e'er came across. Softer than wet ship's biscuit.  
CELESTE: No its not metal its just a prop--  
TATTERFRILL: Shut yer blowhole ye scurrilous cur!  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Belay that. Let the being speak.  
TATTERFRILL: As ye wish, lord Ruffian.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Now, ye wee unfrilled beastie. What were ye spoutin' about imps?  
CELESTE: Um...  
CELESTE: Well I was rowing around looking for boats to board so I could kill imps and get more grist!!!  
CELESTE: I found a chest in the captains cabin and inside there was a map...  
CELESTE: So i followed the map to flotilla and ended up here!!!  
CELESTE: Im deeply sorry if i caused any alarm -_-  
CELESTE: I was only looking to learn more about this land and possibly try to lift the curse...  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: How do ye know about the curse, No-Frill?  
CELESTE: My sprite told me >_>  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: Yer what?  
CELESTE: My sprite???  
CELESTE: Hes kind of like my spirit guardian or something i think...  
TATTERFRILL: Me lord Ruffians, I must object. She coulda easily learned o' the legend o' the sprite from her Dersian masters.  
CELESTE: Im not dersian!!!  
CELESTE: Whatever that is >_>  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: The Captain's point holds water though. Bein' savvy o' the legend doesn't absolve her o' association wi' the enemy.  
CELESTE: I got the boat by killing the enemy!!!  
TATTERFRILL: For which we have naught but yer word.  
CELESTE: Because they explode into grist when you kill them!!!  
CELESTE: What do i have to do to prove im on your side here???  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Our side, ye say? What exactly do ye think ye can contribute to Flotilla?  
CELESTE: Im the maid of void...  
CELESTE: I will sail these skies and turn back or destroy all the invaders of the dark kingdom i find \\_/  
CELESTE: All i need from you is a ship to take me and a map so i know where to go...

Your latest claim seems to have sparked a rather energetic debate among the Ruffians. Tatterfrill shoots you a rather dirty look with his big googly lizard eyes. You do your best to coolly return it. Your attempt is a moderate success.

Consortlog:

GRAND RUFFIAN #3: We cannae let ye go free, ye understand. In a time o' war ye set yeself t' an aggressive course wi' no colours borne. 'twas only the quick thinkin' o' the good Captain here that stopped us sendin' the vessel ye commandeered down to the core.  
CELESTE: Im sorry...  
CELESTE: I didnt realise i was going to cause any trouble...  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Stow that frettin', me frill-free friend. We be droppin' any charges o' piracy in light o' yer contrition and the facts o' ye story.  
CELESTE: Oh!!!  
CELESTE: Thankyou ^_^  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: Howe'er ye still be guilty o' failin' to pin ye colours t'the mast in a time o' war. Which be a serious offence.  
CELESTE: Whats the punishment???  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: That's where we carved out somethin' of a compromise.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: Y'are bound by the code of Flotilla to pursue an' scuttle any and all Dark Kingdom invaders ye may find.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: We'll be sendin' a couple o' observers with ye to make sure ye be abidin' by the terms of ye release.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: Needless t'say, if ye renege on the deal, ye'll be keelhauled before ye know which way is up.  
CELESTE: I promise i wont let you down!!!  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Ye best not. The good Captain don't take kindly t'lollygaggers and workshy lubbers.  
TATTERFRILL: What?  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: Ye've shown ye can keep this creature in check if needs be. We want you to escort it 'n' make sure it holds to its end o' the bargain.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: I be sure we can count on you in this, Captain.  
CELESTE: Um if i could just say my name isnt this creature...  
CELESTE: Im celeste ^_^  
CELESTE: Pleased to meet you!!!  
TATTERFRILL: Yer name ent anyways relevant to these proceedin's, ye ganglin' swab!  
TATTERFRILL: Sires, I really got t'protest. Flotilla needs a steady hand to steer the arrant layabouts an' tailchasers true. Ye have t'think of our ship's safety!  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: Captain, there be no denyin' ye've done a fine job whippin' our port guard into a well-drilled force o' zephyrines.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: We salute ye for yer dedication t'defending our way o' life.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: But now we feel yer talents can be better put to use givin' this Celeste a firm hand at the wheel.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #1: It may jus' be our best chance at scuttlin' the Dersians plots for our land once and fer all.  
TATTERFRILL: ...When would ye have us leave, lord Ruffians?  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: As soon as ye can set off. We'll arrange for supplies to be hoisted onboard, but after that ye must make yer own way.  
TATTERFRILL: As ye wish.  
CELESTE: Thank you again for your leniency lord ruffians!!!  
CELESTE: I wont let you down i promise!!!  
GRAND RUFFIAN #3: That be as may be. I hope when next we meet ye'll have redeemed yerself suitably.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Fare thee well Celeste. Good huntin'. And you as well, Captain.  
TATTERFRILL: Sire?  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: I trust ye won't be lettin' Celeste hog all the pillagin' and despoilin'.  
TATTERFRILL: Not if I have anythin' to say about it, my lord.  
GRAND RUFFIAN #2: Warms the heart t'hear it. On ye go.

Well. That was simultaneously terrible and excellent. On the one hand, you're now a convicted criminal. On the other, you seem to have the tacit approval of Flotilla to go and ruin monsters' shit in their name and on their boondollar. Although you're not entertaining any hopes that you'll be allowed to keep any of the loot you and Tatterfrill uncover. Well, you shall have to be content with the Grist you can get your hands on-- since it's not as if Boondollars have even meant anything of worth so far.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Hey, prisoner.  
CELESTE: Its celeste actually \\_/  
TATTERFRILL: Be there anything' ye need from the Fraymotif stall before we set off?  
CELESTE: What's a Fraymotif?  
TATTERFRILL: ...Ye seriously have no clue what a Fraymotif is.  
CELESTE: I wouldnt have asked if i did...  
TATTERFRILL: Flotilla be doomed...  
CELESTE: Can you put the scorn aside for a moment and actually clue me in???  
CELESTE: Its not like ive been in this land for more than a few hours at this point anyway...  
TATTERFRILL: They be powerful battle techniques ye can use in a pinch.  
CELESTE: Oh!!!  
CELESTE: They sound cool ^_^  
CELESTE: How much are they???  
TATTERFRILL: The cheapest be round about 10 million Boondollars.  
CELESTE: Oh man i dont even have a tenth of that yet -_-  
TATTERFRILL: Aye, Flotilla be doomed.  
CELESTE: Well hey couldnt you lend me some boondollars???  
TATTERFRILL: Ye think I be made of money, ye air-headed scallywag? If I worked my whole lifetime ten times over I doubt I'd make half a million though I ne'er take a wink o' sleep!  
CELESTE: Alright!!! Wow you made your point...  
CELESTE: Except now i have some even bigger questions about the way your towns economy works...  
CELESTE: Can we borrow the money???  
CELESTE: Or work something out with the shopowner??? Like a hire purchase or something???  
TATTERFRILL: If ye ent got the Boondollars she ent gonna part with her wares. She's fussy like that.  
TATTERFRILL: But I know 'er well. If she says no it's fer a damn fine reason.  
CELESTE: Well thats more than a little irritating...  
TATTERFRILL: Suck it up, prisoner.  
CELESTE: Are you seriously going to be calling me that while were working together???  
TATTERFRILL: We ent workin' together, prisoner. I be makin' sure ye follow the rules of yer punishment t'the letter. We ent mates, you and I. We ent companions. Ye be a prisoner, and I be yer warden. That's all.  
CELESTE: Oh my god -_-

Well, so much for the notion of a swashbuckling skyfaring romp through a whimsical, quirky fantasy land. This is turning into hard work and thankless graft.  
At least you're not being convicted of piracy or anything like that. From what you can tell these lizardfolk are still into the idea of capital punishment. Brutes.  
Welp, better go see about getting your weapons back. Sure would be embarrassing to have to go back to slaying monsters with your teeny athame.


	13. Legendary Piece of Shit Pastry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now it is the turn of Valentina and Alistair to get to grips with their consorts. Along the way they are exposed to: peculiar folklore, casual speciesism, lashings of the old ultra-violence and a rather gratuitous case of the sads.

You are now the Seer.

As much as it pains you to admit, Ali was onto something with his harebrained idea. You managed to abseil down the side of the cliff until you found a cave in which you could, with appropriate caution, begin carving your way back through the rock. It didn't take long before you once more stumbled across more of the geckoes that apparently flourish in the cave network that honeycombs this rock spire. These ones are no less nonsensically paranoid, but at least you have managed to assure this particular bunch that you are not a Dersian spy. You managed this via the cunning strategy of specifically stressing to them you were not a Dersian spy before they could take the notion into their heads that you were a Dersian spy.  
You are not proud.  
They are, however, still ticked off at you. Mainly because you confessed to knocking that giant tentacle-wielding monster through the gate and demolishing the majority of that cliffside. According to their 'chik'-heavy agitated discourse the cliffside also featured a cable car station that a prophecy had told them to build in readiness for the Hero of Space. Despite your best efforts, the geckoes refuse to believe that the Hero of Space could be anything other than a gecko. How could some soft, unscaled creature possibly save the Land? It doesn't even have a tail!  
At least, through your efforts to explain to them that you just might possibly be the figure they have been anticipating since the birth of their land however many years ago, you have been able to learn more about the lore of their land, and the role you are apparently to fulfil. You have befriended, if that is the right word, a notably more erudite gecko and storyteller who gave you her name as Chikster. You're not sure if that is actually her name, although with no index for comparison you pretty much feel like you have to take her word for it. It almost sounds more like a title, which you suppose would make more sense given her role within the community.  
She, along with others you have met as she escorts you further up the cliff in the warren of low tunnels, tell you that The Hero of Space is also known as the Frog Collector to the geckoes. The Frog Collector is a female gecko and adventurer that roams the Land far and wide, gathering up all the frogs she could find, until she finds one especially iridescent and glorious frog-- whose skin is as smooth as velvet and croak so full-throated and lusty it could give spirit to even the most sorely wounded of geckoes.  
Overcome with admiration for this exceptional example of amphibiandom, she is compelled to kiss it. The kiss of the Frog Collector then transforms the frog into a handsome universe.  
Wait, what?

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: It's true!  
TINA: How Exactly Does A Kiss Transform A Frog Into A Universe?  
TINA: Even By Fairytale Standards, That Is A Stretch.  
CHIKSTER: Hey don't ask me I just tell the story.  
CHIKSTER: Maybe it's like a, y'know, a metaphor.  
TINA: For What?  
CHIKSTER: I dunno. Do I look like a metaphor-deconstructor to you?  
TINA: Mostly You Look Like A Gecko.  
CHIKSTER: So I can't be both things is that what you're saying? Chik-chik-chik-chik!  
TINA: Not At All. I Was Just Making A Facetious Observation. No Offence Was Meant. I'm Very Happy You Chose To Share Your Folklore With Me.  
CHIKSTER: You're welcome! Usually we wouldn't trust an outsider with our stories, but you're not a Dersian spy, so it should be fine!  
TINA: Quite Right.  
TINA: Could It Possibly Be A Metaphor For The Rebirth Of The Land And The Gecko Community?  
CHIKSTER: Oh no I don't think so.  
CHIKSTER: That'll happen when the Denizen is slain.  
TINA: Slain?  
CHIKSTER: Oh yes.  
CHIKSTER: The way the story goes is that the Frog Collector finds the Genesis Frog at the same time that the Hero of Space frees the Land from the Denizen.  
TINA: Sounds Like A Lot Of Work For One Gecko.  
CHIKSTER: Oh I don't know if they are the same gecko.  
CHIKSTER: A lot of my friends think so but there's no reason why they have to be the same except that the two things happen at the same time.  
TINA: Who Else Would Rise To The Challenge Though?  
TINA: You Said Yourself The Collector Was An Adventurer Too.  
CHIKSTER: Yes I did!  
CHIKSTER: But that's only because she would have to be.  
TINA: Why's That?  
CHIKSTER: Haven't you figured it out?  
CHIKSTER: Why you haven't seen a frog yet, with all this croaking?  
TINA: Um...  
CHIKSTER: It's part of the magic of this land.  
CHIKSTER: The frogs can only be seen by powerful and heroic geckoes.  
TINA: Only Geckoes?  
CHIKSTER: Well no-one else has ever seen them.  
TINA: Has Anyone Else Ever Been Around To Try?  
CHIKSTER: I suppose not.  
CHIKSTER: Well, if you're so determined to try to light the Forge maybe you'll get to see some frogs after all!  
TINA: That Would Be Lovely.  
CHIKSTER: Did you really fight one of the ogres?  
TINA: Um, Maybe? It Was A Big Hulking Thing With A Gecko Tail And Tentacles.  
CHIKSTER: Huh?  
TINA: It Was Gold-Coloured.  
CHIKSTER: Oh yeah that sounds about right. Wow.  
TINA: Yeah, I Blasted It Off A Cliff Edge. It Was Pretty Awesome, Actually.  
TINA: Would've Been More Awesome If It Hadn't Also Fallen Through The Gate.  
CHIKSTER: That's true.  
TINA: I Wasn't To Know There Was A Cable Car On The Other Side.  
CHIKSTER: I suppose. Well you know for next time!  
TINA: Yes, I've Certainly Learned My Lesson. Don't Heedlessly Blast Large Enemies Through Portals In Space Without Knowing Where They Lead First.  
CHIKSTER: Yeah I mean what do they teach you squishy warm-blooded folk anyways?  
TINA: Well For One Thing They Teach Us Not To Make Disparaging Comments About The Personage Of The Being You Happen To Be Talking To.  
TINA: (Although It Is Depressing How Many People Seem To Ignore Those Particular Lessons.)  
CHIKSTER: Oh wow I'm sorry I should try not to be so personal.  
CHIKSTER: Sorry.  
TINA: That's Alright. I Know You Didn't Mean To Be Rude.  
TINA: Can I Ask You A Frank Question?  
CHIKSTER: I'm pretty sure you can yes!  
TINA: I'm Going To Assume That Counts As Consent To Be Questioned In A Frank Manner.  
CHIKSTER: Alright!  
TINA: Do You Believe In The Frog Collector?  
CHIKSTER: Of course I do!  
TINA: But You Aren't Sure Whether She And The Hero Of Space Are The Same Being Or Not?  
CHIKSTER: It's not clear they are. I'm not sure either way, but it seems like a lot for just one gecko to do!  
TINA: Or One Human.  
CHIKSTER: Or one of those!  
CHIKSTER: If that's what you believe...  
TINA: OK. What Would You Do If You Thought Someone Was The Frog Collector?  
CHIKSTER: How do you mean?  
CHIKSTER: I guess I would probably be super excited and chik myself up a storm!  
CHIKSTER: Figuratively speaking of course.  
CHIKSTER: I can't actually control the elements by chikking.  
CHIKSTER: Although I bet the Frog Collector could!  
TINA: That Certainly Sounds Within The Realms Of Possibility Of This Place.  
CHIKSTER: Exactly!  
TINA: I Mean More Constructively. If You Thought Someone You Knew Was Going To Become The Frog Collector What Would You Do To Help Them?  
CHIKSTER: That's a good question!  
CHIKSTER: I suppose what I would do is tell all my friends and tell them to tell their friends that the Frog Collector was here and everyone should help her!  
CHIKSTER: And then I would ask her if there is anything else I could do, I suppose.  
TINA: If, And Note That I'm Only Advancing This As A Hypothetical Situation:  
TINA: If The Frog Collector, For Whatever Reason, Was Someone Not Native To This Land--  
TINA: Would This Alter Your Course Of Action In Any Way?  
CHIKSTER: That sure is a strange hypothetical situation you've established there.  
CHIKSTER: But to answer your question I don't think it would!  
CHIKSTER: Although I would definitely make sure that person knew all the stories of the Land so they would be safe from any of the other dangers the Land has!  
TINA: Such As?  
CHIKSTER: Oh gosh there are just so many I don't know where I would begin!  
TINA: May I Suggest Your Culture's Creation Story?  
CHIKSTER: OK! That sounds like a great idea! Only...  
TINA: Yes?  
CHIKSTER: I think payment for kind in kind is only fair!  
TINA: That Sounds Wonderful.  
CHIKSTER: Great!

You then proceed to have one of the best folklore-offs in paradox space.

You are now the Page.

You have been trudging along now for about thirty minutes, and again you are cursing your lack of foresight in failing to alchemise suitable footwear for your desert trek. As you crest the latest dune, you see a huge, brutish creature below, roaring, its back turned. Your heart skips a beat as you freeze and hope you can sneak away undetected-- do these things have keen noses?  
You hear a familiar, high, keening voice calling for its Mama.  
Oh Christ. Oh Jesus titty-fucking Christ on a fifty-speed mountain bike. You are seriously about to do this, aren't you.  
FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUCK

The hulking beast, at closer range, looks like a scaled up version of an imp-- glassy diamond-like carapace, malevolent pupil-less eyes glaring out of a cruel face-- only this face is also adorned by a pair of gigantic curved tusks sticking out at right angles. When you strike the back of its knee with all the strength and momentum you can muster, hitting just shy of the unprotected joint itself and buckling the carapace plate, sending a small spray of blood out from underneath it, its leg buckles momentarily. It roars again, swiping behind itself with a huge, meaty (but thankfully pretty stubby) arm. You count yourself lucky the prototyped simian dexterity didn't take on this particular enemy, as you dodge with little effort.  
The tentacles certainly did, though, and as you bring up your great mace to guard against the trailing appendage, easily broader than your arm, it collides with it, a rubbery smack resounding. The tentacle coils, and begins to snake around the shaft of your weapon in a way you find disturbingly emasculating. The suckers on the underside of the tentacle cling even to the polished metal with bulldog tenacity, and it is all you can do to hold onto it with one hand while desperately cycling through your Strife Deck with the other outstretched, scrambling desperately for the bon mot to match the item you need.

Your Prototype Morningstar drops into your hand, and you thumb the safety, before swinging upwards with a single, clean motion. The first blade digs up into the rubbery flesh between two sucker pads, and you squeeze the trigger on the reverse side of the handle as the spring activated second blade swings around, catching the tentacle in its scissor grip. The beast bellows in its booming, guttural tones, and the other tentacle loops around, this one already holding a captive-- the mother lizard-creature you were accosted by earlier. Loath to relinquish its prize though, it merely brings the second tentacle down on the first, jerking both of your weapons out of your hands.  
The younger lizard screams for its mother again, and belches a gobbet of fire at the offending tentacle restraining her. She does not respond-- nor does the monster. The rubbery flesh of its tentacle is too slimy to be gravely affected by what is really only a very small, feeble flame.  
 _Aim for the ankles!_ you call to the Son, as you flip through your Strife Deck, at last retrieving the Worst Mace In London. This is-- oh god. Unless this thing has a fatal allergy to incredibly shitty pastry you're probably better off headbutting it.

Well, you try anyway, ploughing into the rear of its knee again, trying to knock it over so you can hop onto its back for pwnage times. The carapace plate (thankfully not diamond-like in resilience) crumples again, and this time you can actually see the flesh underneath-- grey, marbled with white like a grotesque parody of muscle. It bleeds red as anything else, though. Your mace is holding up fairly well, although calling it a mace still seems ridiculous considering it's more or less a pie on a stick.

The monster is a little unsure on its feet now, as it staggers around to face you. Definitely favouring its right leg. It seems to be ignoring the Son now, regarding you as the greater threat. The Son is flailing around behind it, spitting fire at its ankles for all its worth, but not causing a great deal of damage, in honesty. Well, if it can split the enemy's attention sufficiently that's fine by--

Shit. Tentacle just barely skimmed your head. You've got to keep an eye out for the flaily bits as well as the arms that look like they could punch through a brick wall. It raises its fists for a hammer blow to squash you into the sand, but you break for between its legs, launching a cheeky nut-shot as you duck through its legs. It's...entirely ineffective. Well, shit. You can at least capitalise on the momentum and its overstretched joints to pound on its knees some more. You manage to bury the head of the mace between the flesh and the carapace plate, and wrenching it out again sends it spinning to the sand.  
 _Its armour's gone!_ you bark to the Son. _Aim for the weak spot!_  
The plucky young creature obliges, hawking up a fireball which explodes over the exposed flesh, eliciting a pained roar from the monster and dropping it to one knee again. You take the opportunity to lay into its other leg, bobbing and weaving out of the way of the tentacles which by now are lashing through the air with the agitated frenzy of a cornered diplodocus, whaling on the brittle carapace plates straining under the bulk of the creature. Before it can right itself, the outer thigh plate splits, actually splits, under the continued barrage from the Worst Mace In London. Which, incidentally, has finally split as well, disgusting goo the smell and colour of rancid lard oozing out of its crust. As you're inspecting it, though, you are lifted off your feet, and land in a pile of limbs on the sand dune about eight feet away, your arm burning with the sting of the scourge-like tentacle that snapped round while you were distracted. Stupid lousy goddamn pie-mace. As you attempt to right yourself, dizzy from your sudden trip, you feel as if your arm has been dragged along asphalt. Sure enough, there are ragged chunks of skin missing from your arm where the sucker pods made contact with their awful serrated surfaces.

The Son is still flapping around the fiend's feet, calling for its mother and belching fire as best it can, although there's only so much the tiny creature can do. You stagger to your feet, recovering your battered weapon. The monster is wise to you now, and has already turned and started lumbering towards you. It makes a swing with the tentacle holding your two maces, which you duck under, springing forward and swinging the head of your mace round into its wounded flank again, this time recovering and dashing past before it can strike back.  
 _Little guy,_ you shout, as the beast cries out and stumps around again to face you. _Come here!_ The Son is, in spite of its franticness, compliant enough and scuttles over to you, awaiting orders. You scoop it up in your free hand; it only weighs a little bit more than a bag of sugar, and is luckily more aerodynamic.  
 _Go for the eyes this time,_ you tell it, and it nods, seeming to understand. As the monster staggers towards you on its injured legs, you sling the little creature with all your might. For a while, you think it might overshoot, but a lucky stagger forward by the beast guides the Son right onto its head. It latches into the thick, shaggy white fur and starts hawking up fireballs, aimed straight for the eyes. This has the predicted effect of distracting the monster from your gambit, which mainly involves beating the shit out of any exposed flesh on the legs until the damn thing falls over already. It claws at its eyes, desperately trying to shake off the Son, but your tiny sidekick is too small to be grabbed. You beat on the grey marble flesh of the beast's calf, this time sending it completely off balance as it flails around with all available appendages. The Son is swept away by a meaty hand, yelping in pain as he flies into a sand dune. At last, though, you can finish it!

Except your mace is pretty much a gooey mess on a stick. Yeah, you're not finishing anyone with this. Luckily, though, you're on the side with the tentacle holding the maces, and now the creature's blind, you're a lot more confident about taking them back. You grab the shaft of the Prototype Morningstar, and squeeze the trigger as hard as you can. While you aren't able to sever the tentacle entirely, you seem to cause enough damage for it to lie limp, allowing you to retrieve and store your other weapon. Chest heaving and dizzy with the exertion of the fight, you stagger over to the exposed leg, and plunge the mace, blades, and all into it, wrenching and pumping the trigger for all you're worth, gouging out a wide, gory trench in the thing's calf. The brute howls, its remaining tentacle flailing, trying to pull itself to its feet and failing. Time to finish this. You yank your weapon out of the thing's leg and stagger over to its thick, carapaced neck. A few sound blows with the resummoned Silverstar Companion exposes the soft, yielding neck tissue, and, after a few moment's pause to gather your nerve, a single strike to the spine deals enough damage to finally end the worthy foe's life. The whole body explodes into more grist than ever you've seen in one place at the same time. There must be hundreds of Build Grist alone, never mind the Diamond. A fair measure of Vitality Gel, as well, although thanks to the Son you didn't actually take that many hits.

Thinking of the wee firebug reminds you of why you were fighting this behemoth in the first place. You drag your weary arse over the sand to where Mama was being held by the tentacle. She's lying there, amid the pile of grist. Not moving.

Consortlog:

ALI: Hey. Can you move?  
ALI: Hello?  
ALI: I'm not really Versed in lizard Physiology. Are you Alright?  
ALI: Oh god. Please don't be--  
SON: Mama?

Oh no. He's scampering over.

Consortlog:

SON: Mama? We did it, Mama!  
SON: Did you see me? I flew, Mama! I flew in the sky! Did you see? It wasn't a bad Djinn after all. It helped me save you!  
SON: We can go home now!  
SON: Mama?  
SON: It's time to go home! Wake up!  
SON: ...Wake up, Mama! They're waiting for us!  
SON: ...Please?  
SON: ...Come on, wake up...

Oh god. You don't know if you can watch this.

Consortlog:

SON: ...Why won't you wake up?  
ALI: ...I'm sorry, Son.  
SON: What?  
ALI: Your Mama's gone.  
SON: But she can't be gone! She's right here!  
SON: We're gonna go home now! Like she said!  
ALI: I mean, she's Sleeping now.  
SON: Well, she's gotta wake up! We gotta wake her up!

Goddamnit. You should've gone for the tentacle holding her. You took too long over it. You should've known...

SON: Mama!  
ALI: Come on, Son. It's time to go.  
SON: I'm not going without Mama!  
SON: Mama, wake up!  
SON: ...Wake up...

You do the only thing you can do. You pick up Mama, holding her cradled in your arms. Son looks up and gasps, either at your strength or your nerve, or just at the thought of his Mama consenting to being held by what she thought was a Djinn. She weighs about the same as a newborn baby, maybe a little more with the tail.

Consortlog:

ALI: Let's take her with us. You said there were Others waiting for you, right?  
SON: ...Yes...  
ALI: Do you know the Way?  
SON: I...I think so.  
ALI: Show me.

And like that, the tiny creature waddling along in front of you, you bearing his dead Mama in your arms, you trudge on.


	14. At the Risk of Agitation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Back with Celeste, who's finding that sailing the skies is not quite as fun as she'd hoped. And who's this incredibly perky douchebag?

You are now the Maid. You have been sequestered in the cabin of the ship you sailed in on-- deemed the most suitable, being one of the smallest as well as fastest warships available to the Flotilla. Of course, fastest is a relative term and no-one's really going anywhere in a hurry since the Denizen becalmed the entire sky, but your crew of two is making a slightly better fist of it between them than you were. The Captain insisted on bringing his first mate along, and you have to admit, the two of them do make a good team. On the other hand, the first mate is perfectly content to follow Tatterfrill's lead in being absolutely vile and obnoxious to you, so it's a mixed bag.

Before you left Flotilla you managed to retrieve your effects, and attempted to finagle some more intelligence about this Denizen out of the residents. Sadly, you were underwhelmed by the volume of information they had to spare on the subject. Mostly they just ended up reiterating what Jarethsprite had already told you, only in a more piratey idiom. Which, you know, is fun and all, but you were really hoping for some more concrete details on, say, its name. They seemed to be having a whole Voldemort complex going on with that.

They did tell you that once the Denizen had been a kind and loving soul, flying through the sky and granting boons to its favoured wayfarers. But something changed its demeanour and it took the orb which contained all the power of the weather to the core of the planet, coiling itself around it and going to sleep. You suppose next time you can get a hold of Tina you should share that information with her, she might have some ideas about what on earth this flying coily thing could possibly be. Last time you tried her she fobbed you off over something like 'gecko storytime'. You love that girl, but sometimes she can just be the oddest of fish.

There is a hammering at the cabin door, and you can hear it unlock from the other side.

Consortlog:

KINKTAIL: Cap'n's orders're t'get yer on deck right prompt, prisoner!  
CELESTE: Just a moment!!!

You pull your cutlass out of your modus and plant your Exquisite Headdress on your bonce, before bursting out onto the deck. You can spy a hefty, low sitting ship off the port bow: looks to be some kind of battle barge, if the ramming equipment and hefty battery of cannons it's been fitted out with are any indication. There is a gigantic beast, easily twice your height, stomping around on the barge, evidently agitated by your ship's appearance. It's sporting a long, prehensile tail like Jarethsprite, but it's also got a rather unpleasant-looking pair of tentacles extending from its flanks just above the hips. You don't think you'll be able to get through those with just your cutlass...

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Thar she blows.  
CELESTE: How do you know its a she???  
TATTERFRILL: Stow the backtalk, prisoner. Now be the time t'prove yeself! Reckon ye can send that black whale t'Davy Jones?  
CELESTE: I suppose I can try and kill it if thats what you mean...  
CELESTE: I dont want to knock it off the boat!!!  
CELESTE: That things probably packed with more grist than all the imps i fought put together!!!  
TATTERFRILL: Skipper! Man the bow cannons! We'll ram this scurrilous dog and lay 'em out for leather!  
CELESTE: Please tell me thats a figure of speech... -_-  
TATTERFRILL: Flap them gums o' yers less an' get t' yer boardin' point!  
CELESTE: Alright!!! Keep your tail on...

Kinktail is already wrangling the first of the bow cannon battery into place. The thick hemp ropes are dangling off it reminding you of the monster's own tentacles. You hope these guns, diminutive as they are, can help that thing and its handlers to reconsider.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: Want a hand???  
KINKTAIL: Wouldn't say no.  
CELESTE: How do these work???  
KINKTAIL: Ye let me an' the Captain worry 'bout that. All ye have t'do is jump the traps when we connect and put that thing down. We'll put paid to the imps.  
CELESTE: What is that thing anyway...  
KINKTAIL: 's called an ogre. Dark Kingdom uses them fer siegin' an' terrorisin'. They don't fare so fine wi' ship-t'-ship combat, which is why the Captain's bettin' that barge be bristling w'more guns 'n' a bird got feathers.  
CELESTE: Thats why were closing right???  
KINKTAIL: That be about the size of it. Reckon as we'll be hearin' the first burst o' fire over our path any moment, as they figure their angle.

Kinktail is right. No sooner has she said that than there are a number of thunderous cracks from the direction of the barge, and cannonballs are whizzing through the formerly undisturbed sky. Not just cannonballs -- you see a couple of gigantic javelin-like bolts arc through the air and fall short of your ship. There are arbalests mixed in with the cannons. Fantastic. Now you're rounding on the barge proper, you can see the imps on board flapping about over the assorted artillery pieces. They don't look half as sure-handed as Kinktail or the Captain. You suppose they weren't really trained for naval combat. Or combat at all, in the case of the luckless imps. You're not really holding out any hope of the ogre being quite as clueless. Even if it is, the massive size advantage is bound to make up for any perceived problems.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: Anything else i should know about ogres???  
KINKTAIL: They ent too bright. Ye might be able t'flummox one if ye use yer head.  
CELESTE: Really...  
TATTERFRILL: Stop yer blabberin', ye two! There's work t'be done!  
KINKTAIL: Is the ship on course, Captain?  
TATTERFRILL: Aye, we're set to ram shortly. I came up t'make sure we got some coverin' fire fer the prisoner's boardin'.  
KINKTAIL: Almost ready, Captain. If ye can help me roll up this gun we'll be set.  
TATTERFRILL: Prisoner! Make yeself useful! Lash the others t' the bow!  
CELESTE: Ok!!!

Good thing you remember your knots from your time with the Girl Guides. You make fast work of the guns. Unfortunately, the imps have finally got round to reloading theirs, and send another salvo at the ship now you've drifted into range. Their aim is largely terrible, but a couple of cannonballs smash into the lower bow, filling the air with splinters and the horrible scream of stressed wood. You fling yourself to the deck and cover your head.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Return fire! Give 'em everythin' ye got!  
KINKTAIL: Aye, sir!

As you look up, the two lizards are grappling with miniature cannonballs, loading them into the guns. The barge is still looming towards them, although the imps appear to be hunkering down in anticipation of the return fire, rather than attempting to load another salvo. Lucky for you. The ogre, of course, doesn't really have those options available to it, and has contented itself with wrenching one of the heavy-bore guns out of its emplacement and wielding it like a baton. You pale at the notion of going toe-to-toe with a creature that wields cannons, even downscaled lizard-sized ones, in a single meaty hand.  
Your ears split open and you clutch at your head in pain-- your ship's guns are firing, a cacophony of shrill, furious explosions roaring through the sky. Almost as dreadful-- though with the ringing in your ears you can hardly tell-- are the sounds of the cannonballs shredding the barge's deck. Looking up again, through splayed fingers shielding your face, you can see the ogre down on one knee, bleeding profusely from one leg, a whole section of what appears to be some kind of exoskeleton horribly warped and twisted by a cannonball strike.  
Tatterfrill is bellowing something, now that the cannons have fired, but your ears are still recovering from the onslaught and you can't make out a single word. Kinktail seems to be on his wavelength though, she's already rolling up the principal guns, loading up more cannonballs, while Tatterfrill himself scuttles below deck: presumably to work the bellows up to an appreciable ramming speed. You stagger to your feet and survey the damage. Your ship appears to be fine; a little superficial damage to the lower deck, as far as you can tell. The barge has taken a few solid hits though, great rents in the main deck wrought by the cannon fire. A few smatterings of various hues of grist lie scattered here and there; evidently some of the imps got caught by shrapnel. Those remaining are cowering under their gun emplacements or scrambling for below deck rather than risk being caught in another flurry of cannonfire as effective as the last. Although you're horrified by the sound, fury and carnage you cannot help but feel relieved that your companions are such dab hands at this naval combat thing compared to the craven imps. You wouldn't much fancy your odds against an intact ogre plus its crewmates.

Another cannon shot splits your ears, and you yelp, covering them again. This one slams into one of the barge's arbalests, and the whole thing explodes into a cloud of splinters. You see a small spray of grist crystals scatter outwards from behind one of the guns, and shudder. Another tears another huge hole-- this one through the side of the barge. You feel sure if you were actually at sea it would be starting to take on water. You're closing now, speeding up, as much as is possible with lizard power.

Consortlog:

KINKTAIL: Are ye ready?  
CELESTE: What???  
KINKTAIL: Are ye ready t'board?  
CELESTE: I cant hear youuu!!!  
KINKTAIL: What?

This is fucking ridiculous. You're just going to jump onto the barge when you ram it. Any second now--

CRUNCH.

You slam into the cannon in front of you from the force of impact, tumbling over it in a not-so-elegant heap. Cursing to yourself in what Arabic you know, you pick yourself up, dust yourself off and run for the point of the bow which has made impact with the barge, springing off and landing in a somewhat more elegant stance. You summon your cutlass from your Strife deck mid-leap in a sweet move that you totally did not practice during your LARPing days for hours on end. The handful of imps remaining above deck completely flip the fuck out and abscond below, leaving only the wounded ogre, which has by now got to its feet, limping but still meaning business and still holding that very heavy-looking cannon.

You start to circle around it, trying to judge its mobility. Its tentacles writhe and lash, stressing the battered boards further where they smack into the deck. You definitely don't want to be on the wrong end of those. It hobbles to face you as you sidle around; it's by no means stupid, despite its brutish appearance. You suppose you'll have to give yourself a bit more of an edge.

You pull out and tap one of your Blast Magic Blasts, lob it at the ogre's feet, and jump for cover. A mighty THOOM followed by a horrible roar tells you the job's a good 'un. You surface. The ogre is lying on its back, holding its ruined leg in its hands, trying to stop the blood from pumping out. It looks like you've pretty much crippled it. You contemplate leaving it to bleed out, but decide against it; for one thing, that's really kind of cruel and it's not like the creature's actually attacked you yet, and two, you don't want to rule out it having some crazy sort of regeneration ability that could get it back fighting fit and terrorising your lizard buddies while you're distracted chasing down imps below-deck.

You warily pad up to it. The tentacles are lashing about wildly, but you notice they seem to be following a set pattern of movement (almost like it's some sort of video game enemy!) and manage to avoid them without drawing attention to yourself. Skirting around so as not to get caught in its eyeline, you instead sneak up on it and, at the last moment, plunge your cutlass into its eye, driving it deep into the thing's brain. It gives one last, agonised scream, and explodes into grist. You level as well, losing your extremely shiny purple feather for an even bigger and more ostentatious silver one. No longer a mere TRICHORDER but a ONE-HIT WANDERER. You guess that's an improvement. Kind of.

Your gauntlets are bleeping. Incoming message.

began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

Hi!!!  
CB: Um...  
CB: Hello >_>  
CB: Who are you???  
I'm Jane!! Nice 2 meet you!  
CB: o_O  
CB: Right...hi jane...  
CB: How are you talking to me though???  
CB: That was really more my question i guess...  
I'm in the Game with u silly!!!  
CB: Uh...  
CB: How???  
CB: Im not a hundred percent on this but im fairly sure its just us four in here o_o  
Haha!!  
Yeah I was pretty surprised 2!  
I'm nt sure how, but I think the Game made me join ur session cos I was playing by myself!!!  
CB: Come again???  
I'm a player like u!!  
Except I didn't have ne1 2 play with.  
So I think the Game put me in ur session so we cud be friends!!!  
CB: Is that really a thing??  
I dunno I'm guessing as much as u rly lol!  
CB: How did you manage to play at all without a server??? o_O  
Uh...pass??  
I'm nt rly good @ computers!  
What's ur name neway???  
CB: Im celeste...  
Hey Celeste!!  
CB: Whats up with your pesterchum account jane???  
LOL  
I have no idea!  
It just changed 1 day!!! raaaaaaandom!!  
I think maybe I downloaded sumthing I shudn't have?  
CB: Thats a shame -_-  
Neway wat's going on teammate???  
R u fightin nething yet??  
CB: I just killed an ogre actually...  
Wat's an ogre?  
CB: Its pretty much just a giant version of an imp >_>  
CB: Except its got these huge tusks as well...  
CB: And its much tougher!!!  
Wow that's awesome that u beat it!!!  
U must b totes hardcore!!  
CB: I suppose...  
I cudn't fight lyk that after my whole family had been killed by meteors!  
CB: You mean yours wasnt???  
No...  
I'm an orphan!!  
CB: Oh...  
CB: I'm sorry -_-;;;  
No, it's ok.  
U didn't no!!!  
Were all orphans nw neway!  
I just think it's rly brave the way ur nt letting it get 2 u!!  
I think I wud be just totally broken!  
I hope u keep it up!!!  
CB: Yeah me too...  
CB: You didnt lose anyone close to you???  
Not rly...  
There's Fluffy, but I lost her a few months ago..  
So I cud use her 4 my Sprite!  
CB: Thats cool...  
I no rite???  
Wat's ur Sprite like??  
CB: Have you seen labyrinth???  
Wat u mean Pan's Labyrinth?  
Oh no it's not that freaky thing with the eyes in its hands is it???  
CB: No!!!  
CB: Do you know David Bowie???  
No..  
CB: Oh -_-  
CB: Well imagine a really handsome sorcerer thats kind of also a monkey and also a mummy...  
lol that's kinda weird!  
CB: I suppose...  
CB: Listen ive got to go...  
Oh, OK!!!  
Is sumthing wrong??  
CB: No not really -_-;  
CB: My consorts need me though!!!  
CB: I should get back to them!!!  
Oh, k!  
CB: Stay in touch and let me know if you need any help!!!  
Will do!!!  
Thx Celeste!!  
CB: Talk to you soon ^_^  
Bye!

cleopatrasBard [CB] ceased pestering 

 

Wow. OK. You need to go do some more violence. Tatterfrill and Kinktail have emerged back from below decks, where they descended with their own cutlasses. Your hearing seems to have recovered sufficiently-- your ears are still ringing, but you can at least hear yourself speak now.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: We need to go do some more violence \\_/  
TATTERFRILL: Steady yerself, prisoner. We'll be weighin' anchor here while we make this barge seaworthy again.  
CELESTE: I dont care about that!!! I want to go kill something nooow!!!  
TATTERFRILL: I don't know what be fillin' yer swollen hair-covered head with the notion that ye be in any position to give orders, but if ye want me to beat it out of ye I will.  
CELESTE: We dont have time for fussing over stupid ruined boats!!!  
KINKTAIL: These stupid ruined boats be the only thing t'give us a fightin' chance against the Dark Kingdom.  
CELESTE: I get that...But i mean it!!!  
CELESTE: We really dont have time!!!  
CELESTE: Look!!! Theres another dropship coming!!!

You point at a shape expanding off the starboard side. It glints in the light, giving away its metal veneer. It's moving far too fast to be sail-powered. You imagine it may have been scrambled from some nearby staging point to aid the beleaguered barge. You really hadn't thought the imps would've had it in them to raise the alarm. Well, they're all dead now. You suppose you'll just have to be more careful in fut-- hah yeah right. You're going to nail these fuckstains to the floor.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: To the guns! We can give 'em somethin' to say hello to!

Yeah, fuck that noise. You produce another Blast Magic Blast, and bide your time. This ship is coming in hard, and coming in low. Tatterfrill and Kinktail are desperately wheeling a battery of guns together, to try and maximise their chances of hitting the damn thing, but it looks to you more like a fool's errand. You thank the stars the Dark Kingdom is at least sporting enough not to put guns on their futuristic hoverships.

The vessel slows, although it also veers round, banking over your own ship as it comes to lie over the barge. The pilot's not taking any chances, it seems. Your crewmates have to wheel round the guns, and while they do so, you wheel round and give yourself a decent angle to lob the explosive into its bared guts. You can see the ranks of imps spilling out, tentacles flailing, prehensile tails lashing onto handles, giving themselves momentum as they hurl themselves deckwards -- but you force yourself to keep your nerve, and mash the sphere with your pommel before hurling it up, a cunning arc destined for the disembarkment ramp of the dropship.   
Until it bounces off a stray imp and flies horribly off course, flying into the blue yonder over your head and past, down overboard. There is a dull THOOOM and the boat rocks slightly, necessitating a steadying hand on the railing. It's echoed by the cannon blasts from the Captain and his mate, easier to bear from the other side of the considerably larger barge. Even the diminutive cannonballs do a competent job of tearing holes in the dropship's armour, causing it to list heavily. The damage has already been done though-- the majority of the imps, easily two dozen, are all on deck now, and most of them closing on you.

Good.


	15. Guilted Sands

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ali meets the Grandparents, learns a little more about the lamentable plight of his consorts, finds himself agreeing to what can only barely be described as anything other than a suicide mission, and eats some bugs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter marks the approximate position of the half-way point for this fic. I'm still having a great deal of fun writing it, but I am aware that I could allow myself to get entirely carried away with this thing, which I don't feel would be in anyone's best interests considering a) my other writing commitments and b) the lukewarm reception this fic has received. I should add by means of a humble caveat that I wasn't expecting fireworks for an indulgent OC AU from a fandom unknown, and would prefer for this not to be seen as a divorcing of rattle from any perambulatory device you may care to mention. My rattle reposes, on the whole, contentedly.
> 
> After I've wrapped up Act 1 of CF, there is the matter of my previous work to upload, and a piece or two I never quite got around to sharing with the fandom. I also have an itching in a shadowcast section of my psyche, some distant desolate span of synapse-- the germ of an idea, an urge to explore an intriguing dynamic. The nascent forms of Rose and Vriska call to me for actualisation, for their nebulous personalities to be gathered, smoothed, spun, stamped, franked, and hammered out into 12-point lesbionic Lightshipping. If this sounds like something you'd read, or if you want me to point my particular brand of over-worded buffoonery at something less (more?) dear to your poor scarred heart then by all means leave a comment.

You are now the Son's impromptu surrogate parent. You've been carrying your predecessor through the desert for a good while now, and your arms are aching, but you can't bring yourself to lay the body down in case it sets the Son off grieving again. He's been handling himself magnificently, considering he must only be a few years old by human standards. You're fairly sure he's familiar with the notion of death, so his stoicism in the face of what, as far as you're aware, was the death of his only guardian is remarkable. Perhaps, like you, he's just doing his best not to think about it right now, while there are more pressing matters related to his immediate security. Either way, you shall be glad when you can deliver him into the expert care of his own kind, rather than trying to do your best to console the poor mite.

Consortlog:

ALI: Is it much Further?  
SON: Um, I don't think so. There's a cave...  
ALI: Is it Close to anything? Are there any Significant markers to show we're going the right way?  
SON: Uhhh...  
ALI: Never mind.

You trudge on in silence for a few minutes, before coming across a little rock formation poking out of the sand.

Consortlog:

SON: I found it!  
ALI: This is it?  
SON: I guess maybe the dunes shifted.  
ALI: Brilliant. How are we Supposed to get in?  
SON: I think I can.  
ALI: Well, when you Do, ask the Others to come out here.  
SON: Okay!

He dives into the sand piled around the rock, and scrabbles downwards. You didn't realise the little guy had such a knack for tunnelling. Handy.

Before too long, he reemerges, with two older, darker versions of his kind following. They hang their heads when they see Mama's body, still held in your arms. You lay it down in front of them with what you hope is the right combination of stoicism and reverence.

Consortlog:

?1: Thankyou for returning his Mama to us.  
?2: We're the Son's grandparents.  
ALI: Yes, I Suspected as much.  
GRANDPAPA: Were it not for you I imagine there would be two bodies out there in the sand, instead of one returned to us.  
ALI: I'm Sorry that I couldn't do More.  
GRANDMAMA: You've done more than we have any right to expect.  
ALI: If there is Anything I can do for the Child, you need only Ask.

They exchange something of a Look. If they possessed eyebrows, you're fairly sure they would have been cocked in a conspiratorial fashion.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: Actually...  
GRANDPAPA: If you'd be interested in helping, there is something you could do for us.  
GRANDMAMA: We really ought to discuss it below, though.  
ALI: Um, I'd be happy to Listen, at least.  
ALI: How do you Intend for me to get into the Caves?  
GRANDPAPA: There's another entrance. Only the elders know about it.  
ALI: What should we Do about, uh--  
GRANDMAMA: We'll carry her body. Don't worry about that. You'll need your forelegs free.  
ALI: Heh.  
GRANDPAPA: Pardon?  
ALI: It's just, my Kind call them Arms.  
GRANDPAPA: Is that so.  
ALI: We're Exclusively Bipedal.  
GRANDMAMA: Very nice.  
ALI: I'm sure being Flexible in that Regard is Useful too.  
GRANDPAPA: It is. Shall we?  
ALI: By all means.

Between the two of them, the adults are able to carry Mama quite easily. The Son follows behind them, and you bring up the rear, glancing around to make sure you're not being followed. Hearing about the Djinn and their shape-changing abilities has made you a little paranoid.

They lead you to a sheltered section of the rock formation, covered by a low shelf of rock. There is a large flat slab, a little broader and thinner than a manhole cover, which itself conceals a hole rather like an irregularly-shaped manhole. On seeing the Grandparents scuttle into it, still carrying Mama between them, you are given pause. It looks easy enough for them, a mere third of your size, but you're going to have to wriggle on your belly just to get under the shelf and enter the hole in the first place. Never mind that as soon as you pull the slab back over, you'll be completely in the dark. You try not to think about your claustrophobia and instead think about helping these poor downtrodden lizards, and especially the tragically-orphaned Son. Down you go...

The pothole is lined with jagged edges. You suppose they're helpful for handholds and the like, but they're also pretty painful to jam a calf or elbow into in the dark. You're fairly sure you're bleeding from a couple of cuts on your arms, and worst of all, the air is getting mustier and closer the further down you go. Only imagining the nice big underground cave (preferably with a lake or waterfall or some calming water feature present) you're going to hopefully reach at the bottom.  
You call down to your guides, but they seem to have left you behind already. Probably had enough to contend with carrying the daughter you entirely failed to save. Yeah, you wouldn't help you either.

Consortlog:

?: Hey.  
ALI: Is that You, the Son?  
SON: Yes!  
SON: Come on! They're waiting for you!  
ALI: Is it much Further?  
SON: No!  
ALI: You know, it's Considerably more difficult for me to climb down given my Relative size.  
SON: Huh?  
ALI: Never mind.

You can hear, down below, raised voices and murmuring. You think you recognise a couple of them. There is a flickering light illuminating the floor about ten feet below. You slither down, jarring your knee on a wayward rock, before hitting the ground. It's granite, or some other tough stone-- you can't really tell in the half-light. The Son is in front of you, head cocked.

Consortlog:

SON: Why did you take so long?  
ALI: Because I'm quite big, and your secret entrance is quite small.  
SON: They're waiting for you, this way! I think they're kind of excited.  
ALI: Really? Why's that?  
SON: I dunno.

The ceiling is, predictably, low. You have to crawl on your hands and knees; it's rather unnerving, but you press on. You've come this far.  
After about thirty yards, the cave rounds a bend and opens up somewhat. You can stand, just about, though you have to bow your head a little. This is only appropriate, given that Mama's body is laid out in front of you, surrounded by more of her kind, small torches burning merrily on the walls. The crowd hushes up when they spot you, and Grandmama steps forward.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: Welcome to the Salamander Village.  
ALI: Uh, thank you for Having me.  
GRANDMAMA: We apologise for the humble state of our home. If it would be more comfortable to you, please sit.  
ALI: Thanks.  
GRANDPAPA: We asked you down here because we have a problem we'd like you to help with.  
GRANDMAMA: Also because you said you wanted to do something to help us.  
GRANDPAPA: Yes, that too.  
ALI: Well, yes.  
ALI: I mean, if it's Something I think I can Do, then I'd be Happy to help.  
GRANDPAPA: I wouldn't set too much stock in your assessment of your abilities as they stand, my friend.  
GRANDMAMA: If you are who our Grandson says you are, then you have only just begun to realise your potential.  
ALI: Uh...  
ALI: What makes you say That?  
ALI: What's he been Saying about me?  
GRANDMAMA: I wouldn't worry, it's nothing bad. Far from it.  
GRANDPAPA: He told us you were a valiant warrior, and a kind and generous soul.  
ALI: His words, were they?  
GRANDMAMA: Never have two managed to stand against one of the Dark Kingdom's ogres. Much less one bearing such a monstrous visage. And to think one of those as barely more than a hatchling-- it beggars belief. Only one schooled in the deadliest of fighting techniques could possibly triumph against such a foe.  
GRANDPAPA: Our Land has anticipated the arrival of a mighty warrior for many ages. One who could turn the tide of the war. Free our brethren and topple the cruel regime that enslaves and hunts us like prey.  
ALI: The Djinn?  
GRANDMAMA: Yes, the Djinn. They weren't always here. They are a race created by the lord of this Land.  
GRANDPAPA: Once he was a kind lord. He would tend to the heart-fires and, in our way, we would help him.  
GRANDMAMA: Yet the whisperings of the Dark Kingdom hardened his heart. He created a race of beings like himself. At first we thought them helpers, emissaries from our lord sent to aid our efforts, rewards for our ages of diligent service.  
GRANDPAPA: Then we began to hear stories. Cousins and friends from distant settlements disappearing. Those who went to investigate vanished as well. And the numbers of Djinn swelled.  
GRANDMAMA: They came while we slept. Tried to steal us away.  
GRANDPAPA: But we had grown suspicious. We posted guards to protect us, warn us of any disturbance. When they came, they were able to sound the alarm. Our Daughter's mate was among them. He bought our escape with his sacrifice. Many more, too, paid for the liberty of their loved ones with the loss of their own.  
ALI: That's awful. I'm so Sorry.  
GRANDPAPA: Since then we have lived in exile, hiding from the ravening mobs of Djinn that patrol the dunes, harvesting the heart-fires and using them to fuel their own twisted desires. Rounding up what few free salamanders remain, pressing them into slavery toiling beneath their bloated palaces.  
GRANDMAMA: None who have entered those damned catacombs have ever returned. We cannot even guess at the horrors that our kin are subject to in the service of those fiends.  
ALI: Have you Attempted to Talk to your Lord? Surely if he once Favoured you you may be able to Convince him to Bring an End to these Abuses.  
GRANDMAMA: If only we could! We have searched in vain. None who live know where he may be found now. Our Daughter was looking for the ruins of one of the oldest-known villages of our kind, where we thought there may be such knowledge, but in vain, it would appear.  
GRANDPAPA: And it cost us her life, even as it brought you to us.  
ALI: So what can I do?  
GRANDPAPA: You are a champion from beyond the Medium, sent to us to aid in our moment of direst need. With your prowess you can stand against the Djinn, where we cannot.  
ALI: Are they that Formidable?  
GRANDMAMA: We are not a craven people. Long had we fought the Dark Kingdom's forces before the coming of the Djinn. Even now, changed as they are in their forms, we can fight them, and win, in numbers. But we do not have the numbers to fight the Djinn. They are too many, and we too few. And like us, they are beings of fire. Our breath has little effect on their forms.  
GRANDPAPA: You can surely triumph though, with wit and courage as your weapons.  
ALI: Um...  
GRANDMAMA: There is a Djinn stronghold not far from here. Even less of a trek for you, I shouldn't wonder.  
GRANDPAPA: We know the Djinn have taken a great many salamanders beneath their fortifications. We believe they are using us for some labour too hazardous or menial for their pride to allow them to take part in.  
GRANDMAMA: If you would aid us and give hope that our Grandson may live in a free Land, as we did, your quest shall be to infiltrate their lair, find our brothers and sisters, and free them from their servitude.  
GRANDPAPA: If you accomplish this, you must leave the Djinn in disarray when you escape with the freed salamanders, lest they merely dispatch their fleetest forces to hunt you down. Chaos will be your shroud.  
GRANDMAMA: Would you accept this task, champion?  
ALI: Um, I Suppose so.  
ALI: I mean, I'll Try, I guess.  
ALI: Mostly I'm just Trying to stay Alive here so I can leave.  
ALI: But you're on the wrong end of a Really Shitty Situation here, and I kind of have to Do Something about it.  
ALI: I'd Hate to Disappoint.  
ALI: More than I already Have, I mean.  
GRANDPAPA: ...I'm not sure I understand.  
ALI: ...I couldn't Save your Daughter.  
GRANDMAMA: We do not blame you for that.  
GRANDPAPA: From our Grandson's account, it is most likely she passed away before your intervention even began.  
ALI: ...  
ALI: I still Wish I could have done more.

There is a murmur of discontent among the other salamanders. The Son scampers over to Grandmama and clings to her side.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: We appreciate the sentiment. Truly. But you must be careful using that word in this Land.  
GRANDPAPA: Every wish that is made, anywhere in the vastness of all space beyond the Medium, every single heart's desire made manifest in speech gives birth to a heart-fire here, in the sands.  
GRANDMAMA: The Djinn harvest these wishes for their own dark purposes. It's said they burn them up inside great forges to make their palaces more luxurious. Some even say they are used to create new Djinn.  
ALI: Who says That?  
GRANDMAMA: I'm not sure. It's just said.  
GRANDPAPA: The point is if the Djinn find your wish, they'll know that you're here, in their land, and they will stop at nothing to prevent you from helping us as the stories foretold.  
ALI: Oh.  
ALI: Oh Dear.  
GRANDMAMA: Yes. You can understand our discomfort around that word. Any wish made by any of us could potentially alert our oppressors to our location. And then, with their shapeshifting powers, it would be elementary for them to infiltrate and attack.  
ALI: Yeah...  
ALI: I've been Meaning to ask about that, Actually.  
GRANDPAPA: Yes?  
ALI: How do I Know that you're not Shapeshifted Djinn Yourselves?  
GRANDMAMA: Heh. We thought you might ask this question.  
GRANDPAPA: Blap!

Whoa! The wizened old salamander belches out a fireball the size of a basketball, bigger than his own head by a considerable margin. He spits it in the direction of one of the torches, which is consumed by it with a fiery burst, and burns a little brighter for a few moments before dulling back down.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: No matter how cunning their disguises may be, no Djinn can spit fire. They cannot even come close.  
GRANDPAPA: It is a trait only salamanders can learn, over time. Djinn lack the patience to learn the ways of fire-breathing.  
GRANDMAMA: It is odd, perhaps, but a boon for us-- the Djinn are so used to instant gratification, to being able to satisfy their every whim and desire at a moment's thought, they lack the discipline required to truly master any skill. Even ones that should be inherent to the race they are posing as.  
ALI: OK, cool.  
ALI: Aaaand...how do I Know that you're not Djinn just Making that up?  
GRANDMAMA: Hoohoo! You are cautious indeed. You will have to trust us. And trust that no Djinn would ever expose their weakness to a non-Djinn, or imply they were anything less than perfect children of our lord.  
ALI: Is he a Shapeshifter too?  
GRANDPAPA: Much more than that. He possesses power over shape, form, and more. To the weak-willed he can provoke ecstasy or despair in the time it takes to draw breath. And unlike the Djinn, he has mastered every imaginable form he could take. He is, perhaps, invincible.  
GRANDMAMA: That is why the Dark Kingdom worked so hard to turn his heart against us. Even with their entire army arrayed against him, the King and Queen both joined in combat against him, they would lose.  
ALI: Wow. I hope he doesn't try to Intervene.  
GRANDPAPA: I highly doubt it. As far as we can tell, he has not directly interfered in the Land's affairs for almost an age. The last deed of import he did was creating the Djinn.  
GRANDMAMA: And, as well, he knows the lore of the Land, as do the Djinn. If he notices the fated champion of the salamanders acting against his creations, he will know there is something gravely wrong and act accordingly.  
ALI: You're Sure about this?  
GRANDPAPA: We are sure.  
ALI: OK. I'm in.

There is a tumult as the salamanders all jostle around, excited. Several of them let loose into the ceiling, blap-blapping up quite the firestorm. You do your best not to shy away from the considerable heat backwash; it not seeming especially heroic to wince away from the exhultation of your-- your entourage? Your minions? Your worshippers? These guys who like you and are counting on you to pull some seriously ops shit on their behalf. You can't help but think you're in over your head.

Consortlog:

ALI: Uh, excuse me...  
ALI: It's great that you're all so Enthusiastic and all, but...  
ALI: OI!  
ALI: Oh. Thank you.  
GRANDMAMA: What's the matter, Champion?  
ALI: I was Wondering if you had any Boons you could offer to me that might Facilitate my Efforts to Liberate your Kin.  
GRANDMAMA: Well, of course. We were just about to get to that.  
ALI: Oh, I beg your Pardon.  
GRANDMAMA: No, you were perfectly within your rights to ask. We couldn't very well ask you to infiltrate a complex that no non-Djinn has ever come out of without some kind of recompense.  
ALI: Uh, yeah. Exactly.  
GRANDPAPA: Do you want me to fetch them, dear?  
GRANDMAMA: If you could, darling.  
GRANDMAMA: We are not an avaricious people by nature, you must understand. But in our time roaming this desert, and in the ruins of our forefathers we have often stumbled across, we have found several relics of great value.  
GRANDMAMA: The first one is a pot of eternal flame. No-one knows how it burns so constant, even when covered. It uses no fuel, gives off no scent or heat, and no amount of water can extinguish it, yet it produces light enough to illuminate a small cavern with ease.  
GRANDPAPA: Here it is.

The cavern is lit up brighter than ever before, as the ranks of salamanders open and Grandpapa returns. He reverently carries the small fire pot over to you. Grandmama was right. It's incredibly bright, and yet, when he lowers it into your lap, it is cooler than the sand beneath you, the smooth earthenware pleasingly cold to the touch.

Consortlog:

ALI: Thank you. I will take Good Care of it.  
GRANDMAMA: Thankyou. There is something else we want you to have.  
GRANDPAPA: We found this in a shrine to our lord that our ancestors had built in the bottom of a great canyon. We had heard rumour of its existence but when we went there, there was nothing but sand. We dug for so long some of us gave up hope of finding it, but when we did, we found this.

He holds up a small, orange-tinted lens. It looks as if it might have been made from amber, or some similar substance, although you've never seen anything quite so clear.

ALI: What does it Do?  
GRANDPAPA: We don't know! We've never been able to unlock its power. But we are sure it has great potential. Like you, I suppose.  
GRANDMAMA: Perhaps if you travel with it you may have more luck than us.  
ALI: I Hope so. What do you think I should Do with It?  
GRANDMAMA: Well, look through it, I imagine. The inscription at the base of the shrine said 'The Lord's eyeglass grants verity to the true of heart.'  
ALI: That's annoyingly Cryptic.  
GRANDMAMA: Yes, we thought so too. Hopefully you will have better luck than us with it.  
ALI: What even makes you think it'll do Anything for me? It's not like Anyone could Feasibly describe me as 'true of Heart'.

The two wrinkled old salamanders exchange a look, as their kin look on respectfully.

Consortlog:

GRANDPAPA: It's just a feeling we have.  
GRANDMAMA: In any event, it can't possibly do you any harm.  
GRANDPAPA: Well, as long as you don't go out of your way to be un-true of heart it probably won't cause you specific harm.  
GRANDMAMA: But we're sure you wouldn't do that.  
ALI: Well, I certainly won't Now.  
ALI: Thanks. I Suppose.  
GRANDMAMA: You're welcome.  
GRANDPAPA: Will you stay and rest a while before your journey? We have food and water, it would mean a great deal to us if we could share a little repast with you, and honour the life of our dear and departed Daughter before you go.  
ALI: If you're Sure you Want me there.  
GRANDMAMA: Of course. Without you her body would have been food for the locusts. It is thanks to you that our line endures at all.  
GRANDPAPA: As well, we would like to hear of your history before you came to this Land. To prepare your tale for our storytellers.  
GRANDPAPA: If you are content to tell it.  
ALI: No, Believe me, I Understand. I'll do my Best.  
ALI: Although you Guys really ought to Meet Tina.  
GRANDMAMA: Who?  
ALI: Never mind.

You are actually more pleased than you're letting on with this gift. You already have a few ideas on how to incorporate this into future alchemisations, if you can get the damn thing to work. And assuming you can use your co-players' gear when you find one of those gates. That reminds you--

Consortlog:

ALI: There was Something else.  
GRANDPAPA: Yes?  
ALI: I'm looking for these things called Gates. They're these sort of dark blue Spiral-shaped Discs. They may be Floating in mid-air or on a Wall somewhere. Have you ever Seen one?

They exchange another look before they turn back to you. It's a real pity you've not got a deck of cards handy-- you're pretty sure you could clean up against these folk given half an hour of Texas Hold-em.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: We can discuss it after you return from the Djinn stronghold. You already have plenty to concern yourself with, I'm sure.  
ALI: That is Definitely true.  
GRANDPAPA: That's settled then. Now, you simply must relax. You have a most taxing quest ahead of you. Please enjoy our hospitality while you're able. We will soon have a meal prepared fit for a dual celebration. For a life lived well, and the prospect of a new beginning for us all.  
ALI: Uh, what Exactly does that Entail?  
GRANDMAMA: Dusk-lotus bloom on a bed of fried locusts, with braised papayas and sand-mangoes drizzled in the most flavoursome honey from wild fire hornets.  
ALI: Phew. I was Afraid for a moment it would be something Weird.  
GRANDPAPA: Is it to your taste?  
ALI: Are they Sustainably Sourced Locusts?  
GRANDPAPA: Pardon?  
ALI: I'm Joking. That will be Fine.

You settle in with the salamanders for what promises to be, at the least, an interesting evening. Morning. Whatever.


	16. This Gecko Condition Called Friendship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We again take a look at Tina's efforts, and are treated to a consort's fable, some snippy remarks about much-loved sci-fi settings, a confrontation of sorts with a sketchy-looking ally, and a desperate slobberknocker for survival.

You are now the storyteller. You and your new friend Chikster have drawn quite the crowd with your cultural exchange of treasured fables. You've been at it for hours, back and forth between you. Old and young alike have gathered round to sit at the feet of you and Chikster, as you recite the stories passed down generations of humans and geckoes alike.

Consortlog:

TINA: And So The Evil Empire Was Nominally Defeated, Although Obviously There Were Still Huge Numbers Of Gruelling Battles To Be Fought, To Say Nothing Of The Backroom Politicking And Populist Diplomancy To Be Done In Order To Secure Some Measure Of Galactic Stability. And Luke Would More Or Less Go Off His Floppy-Headed Nut For A While, But It Pretty Much All Worked Out In The End.

Yeah, you had an epic brain-fart when Chikster yielded the floor to you last, but you haven't heard any complaints from your audience. Seems like receptiveness to campy epic space operas inbred with bastardised interpretations of Eastern belief systems is a universal constant.

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: Wonderful! Brilliant story! I especially enjoyed the part where Hannah shot Greedo first. Such a window into her mindset! So deft and understated! Can I steal that?  
TINA: Feel Free.

Yeah, also you may have regendered Han to an extent. Which only makes the story about five times better anyway.

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: I think that makes it my turn now. Any requests?  
CHILD: Tell us a tadpole tale!  
CHILD #2: No, tell us about Uncle Flik and the Golden Dragonfly!  
CHILD #3: No, Uncle Flik and the Two Jelly-Beetles!  
CHIKSTER: Oh, maybe another time, children. I really ought to be sharing more useful tales with our guest. Uncle Flik stories are for hatchlings.  
TINA: That's OK. I Wouldn't Mind Hearing An Uncle Flik Story. I Like The Sound Of Uncle Flik And The Two Jelly-Beetles.

This has a predictably electric reaction on the young ones, who bounce around and cheer as if you'd just offered them an All-You-Can-Eat Buffet at the Insect House of the Bangkok Zoo.

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: As you wish. Ahem. 'The Cautionary Tale of Uncle Flik and the Two Jelly-Beetles'.  
One day, greedy old Uncle Flik woke up to a fierce rumbling in his stomach. It growled, grumbled and groaned. Uncle Flik was lazy, and tossed and turned until he could ignore it no longer. So he shook his mate awake and said 'Good and dutiful mate of mine, my stomach is rumbling powerful and I need something to fill it. Go and fetch me some breakfast.'  
And the long-suffering mate of Uncle Flik did not even open her eyes, but said 'Wise old Uncle Flik, in your infinite sagacity you ate the very last scraps I'd been hoarding in the parlour only last night. So if you want something to eat, you're going to have to catch it yourself.'  
And Uncle Flik was cross and stamped out of his cave, muttering some very earthy words under his breath. He climbed up the climb in a great huff, looking far over the many trees and bushes growing from the side: for his side of the cliff saw a great deal of wind and rain, to blow the seeds into the cracks and see they got the water they needed to grow big and strong. As he was looking over the view, he heard a familiar buzzing, and on a bush that poked out just below the lip of the cliff edge, the biggest, juiciest jelly-beetle he had ever seen. So swollen was its gigantic rear, so glistening were the colours of its delicious jelly-innards, Uncle Flik found himself watering at the mouth. He stalked up on it, his tongue tingling at the merest thought of biting into the beetle's crisp shell, feeling the juices burst out of it and flow over his tongue like the sweetest of dropberries.  
He seized it and squeezed it, with his nimble fronttoes until its head went 'pap' like an overripe airplum. He knew this way the beetle's brittle skin would not be broken and the precious juices would not be wasted. Then, holding the dead beetle in his forefeet he looked for a way back down to his cave. For he knew as well as anyone that jelly-beetles are at their most delicious when boiled in their own juices. So, as he found his way back down the cliffside he was already thinking of how perfectly this beetle would satisfy his considerable hunger.  
But as he was climbing slowly down the cliff he happened across a pool of water. Such a rare and special thing on our cliffs caught his attention and so he looked into it, greatly curious. Imagine how he felt, when he saw peering back at him, another gecko! And this other gecko holding a jelly-beetle just as plump and delicious as his own!  
Uncle Flik was a greedy and jealous sort, and not about to stand for some other gecko having a jelly-beetle as fine as his, so he shouted down into the pool of water.  
'Ho! Water gecko! Give me that jelly-beetle or I'll take it off you and you'll be sorry!'  
But of course the gecko in the water did not reply, only flap its mouth back at Uncle Flik to make him even angrier.  
'Now see here!' Uncle Flik said, puffing himself up as big as he could be. 'Give me that jelly-beetle or I'll knock you down square!'  
But the water gecko just puffed himself up as well, and so in Uncle Flik plunged, jelly-beetle and all, all to take what wasn't his.  
And what do you think he found when he went into the pool? Why, only water and rock, and no gecko at all, nor jelly-beetle or any sign of one. And when he went into the water, he realised that he couldn't swim, and dropped the fat jelly-beetle, letting it sink out of sight. The only thing greedy old Uncle Flik got out of that pool was wet.  
Now why do you think that was?  
CHILD: It was a ghost in the water!  
CHILD #2: That's stupid, it wasn't a ghost. The water gecko swam down before Uncle Flik could get it!  
CHILD #3: No, the water gecko was him but in the water!  
CHIKSTER: What do you think, Tina?  
TINA: Um. I Think All Three Ideas Are Excellent, But The One I Like Best Of All Is Uncle Flik Seeing Himself In The Water.  
CHIKSTER: Yes, I like that one too!  
CHILD: Awww...  
CHIKSTER: Children! Do you know why Uncle Flik didn't get the tasty jelly-beetle in the end?  
CHILD #2: Because he was greedy?  
CHIKSTER: Yes! We must all share and not try to take from others what isn't ours!  
TINA: Well Put. Thank You For The Story. It Was Lovely.  
CHIKSTER: Not at all! Are you leaving now?  
TINA: I Think I Ought To. I Have To Visit The High Chancellor And Ask Her Advice On Where I Can Find The Next Gate.  
CHIKSTER: Well, at least let me go with you some of the way.  
TINA: It Might Be Dangerous.  
CHIKSTER: Exactly! I wouldn't want to leave you by yourself to face the Dark Kingdom's minions! What kind of a friend would I be?  
TINA: Thank You. I'm Touched.  
CHILD: Are you going away, Tina?  
TINA: Yes, I Am. I'll Try And Come Back Soon Though.  
CHILD #3: I like your stories.  
TINA: Oh, Thank You! You're Very Sweet.  
CHILD #2: Tina?  
TINA: Yes?  
CHILD #2: Where are your scales?  
TINA: ...I Don't Have Any.  
CHILD #2: Yuck!  
CHIKSTER: Chiptooth! Apologise!  
CHILD #2: I'm sorry.  
TINA: That's OK. I Thought It Was Strange Too, Seeing You Geckoes For The First Time. But I'm Glad We've Met Now. And I Hope I Can Help Defend You Against The Dark Kingdom.  
CHILD: Are you a warrior?  
TINA: ...I Suppose So. Kind Of.  
CHILD: Wow, just like the Hero of Space!  
TINA: Yes. Imagine That.  
CHIKSTER: Alright, everyone, time for Tina to go! Say your goodbyes!

Chiptooth and the other little geckoes bashfully bid you goodbye. The adults are a little more reserved, but most wish you good luck on your travels and thump their tails against your leg (you are told by Chikster tail-knocking is a standard greeting and farewell with her people). It's an odd gesture, but a sincere one, and strangely touching. You half-wish you had a tail to reciprocate with.  
Chikster shepherds you away from the small crowd, and leads you up the next tunnel. It must be close to the outside, because you can faintly hear the sound of croaking over the dripping of water and the tramping of your feet off the walls around you. It's dark, so you release your scryMac, which sheds enough light for you to safely pick your way through. It's fairly steep going; Chikster has reverted to all fours to give her feet maximum purchase on the damp rock. You're finding it somewhat slippery.

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: What's that?  
TINA: It's My Computer.  
CHIKSTER: What's a computer?  
TINA: Um. It's Kind Of A Magic Box That Lets You Do Things Like Solve Problems And Learn Things. You Can Talk To Your Friends, Play Games, Listen To Music, All Sorts Of Things, Really.  
CHIKSTER: It's not a box...  
TINA: Oh, No, This One Isn't. I Changed It. They Don't Usually Float, Either.  
CHIKSTER: How exactly does it make music? It's just a ball.  
TINA: Um, It's Kind Of Like A Mynah Bird. Do You Have Those?  
CHIKSTER: Of course we do.  
TINA: Just Checking. OK. Well, You Know How Mynah Birds Learn To Make Sounds Like A Gecko?  
CHIKSTER: This ball is alive?  
TINA: No, It's A Machine.  
CHIKSTER: Like the cable car?  
TINA: Not Really. It's More Like The Tools You Used To Make The Cable Car.  
CHIKSTER: Why's that?  
TINA: Because You Can Use A Computer Instead Of Lots Of Tools.  
CHIKSTER: I think I'm beginning to understand.  
CHIKSTER: So it's basically magic, is what you're saying?  
TINA: Not Usually. But This One Is.  
TINA: Maybe I'm Not Explaining It Terribly Well.  
CHIKSTER: Is is safe to touch?  
TINA: I Should Think So.  
CHIKSTER: Can I?  
TINA: If You Like.  
CHIKSTER: ...Oh! It did something!  
TINA: Huh? Let Me See.

She disturbed the screensaver, and revealed the desktop again. Just as well, really-- you had some Pesterchum alerts that you hadn't noticed earlier.

 

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering voraciousThespian [VT]

JW: hey.  
JW: how's my favourite server player doing?  
JW: listen, i thought i should report in.  
JW: i know you're probably busy so you can't keep an eye on me.  
JW: i've reprototyped my sprite and i've made a start on exploring my land.  
JW: i was wondering if you could use the grist i've got so far to build up to my first gate when you get the chance.  
JW: i've been talking to my consorts and they have no idea where the next one is.  
JW: hope you get this soon!  
JW: let me know if there's anything i can do to help!

jocularWordsmith [JW] is now an idle chum!

VT: Hey.  
VT: Thanks For Updating Me.  
JW: oh hey tina.  
JW: you're welcome.  
JW: how're you getting on?  
VT: Good!  
VT: Not Great, But Good.  
JW: what's your land like?  
VT: Land Of Cliffs And Frogs.  
JW: sounds strange.  
VT: I Just Had A Folklore-Off With A Large Sapient Gecko.  
JW: wow.  
JW: how large are we talking here?  
VT: About Three Feet Tall.  
JW: oh.  
JW: consort?  
VT: What's A Consort?  
JW: they're the creatures who inhabit your land.  
JW: they're supposed to help you in various ways.  
VT: Oh. Then Yes.  
VT: Well, One In Particular.  
JW: really?  
VT: Yeah, She's Awesome.  
JW: the folklore gecko?  
VT: Yeah, Her Name's Chikster.  
JW: tell her i said hi.  
VT: Will Do.

 

Consortlog:

TINA: My Friend Whobes Says 'Hi'.  
CHIKSTER: Who?  
TINA: No, Whobes.  
CHIKSTER: Where is she?  
TINA: He.  
TINA: And He's Not Here.  
TINA: He's Talking To Me Through My Magic Ball.  
CHIKSTER: I can't hear anything...  
TINA: He's Writing Messages To Me Which Appear On The Surface Of The Ball.  
TINA: I Can Then Write Messages Back To Him By Pressing Sensitive Portions Of The Surface.  
TINA: Each Portion Corresponds To A Letter Or Symbol.  
CHIKSTER: So where is he?  
TINA: That's An Excellent Question.

You've not forgotten the last conversation you had with Ali. You're not entirely convinced that there isn't a reasonable explanation for this. Or, at the very least, an explanation reasonable by the standards of the Game.

 

VT: So Where Are You Exactly?  
JW: land of beats and wheels.  
JW: pretty chill, actually.  
JW: except for the imps.  
JW: feel kind of sorry for the rest of you.  
VT: Oh? Why's That?  
JW: well, i bet your lands aren't as cool as mine.

 

Damn. You thought he might've tipped his hand there.

 

VT: Yeah, Have To Admit, I'm Having Some Trouble With Mine.  
VT: I'm Supposed To Be Climbing To The Top Of My Cliff To Activate Some Sort Of Forge, But I Really Don't Know The First Thing About It. My Consorts Don't Seem To Even Know It Exists.  
JW: you'll be ok.  
VT: I Will?  
JW: of course. you're a smart girl. i'm sure you'll figure out how it's supposed to work.  
JW: the game wouldn't give you something impossible to do, i'm sure.  
VT: Well, Here's Hoping.  
VT: I Went Through My First Gate, Anyway. I Think It Took Me Further Up The Cliff.  
VT: But I'm Still A Long Way From The Top.  
VT: My Consorts Made a Cable Car To Take Me Up There, But I Dropped An Ogre Through It.  
JW: oops.  
VT: Oops Indeed.  
JW: wait. if your consorts built you a cable car then surely they know about the forge on some level?  
VT: I Don't Think So. They Were Just Following A Prophecy Someone Made.  
JW: someone?  
VT: Hm.

 

Consortlog:

TINA: You Know, I Don't Think I Ever Asked.  
TINA: Who Prophesied That The Cable Car Would Need To Be Built?  
CHIKSTER: Who do you think? The High Chancellor of course!  
CHIKSTER: Do you really think people'd listen if someone like me said we needed to build this crazy thing?  
TINA: Well, They Ought To.  
CHIKSTER: That's kind of you to say. But it was definitely the High Chancellor's call. She told us all to get building it yonks ago, and it's been sat there waiting to get used since then.  
TINA: And The Fact That She Now Lives At The Top Of The Cliff Handily Serviced By The Cable Car?  
CHIKSTER: Well, someone has to stay up there to maintain it.  
TINA: ...I'd Really Like To Talk To This Gecko.  
CHIKSTER: I'm sure she'll want to talk to you too!  
TINA: Let's Hope So.

 

JW: hello?  
VT: Sorry, Was Just Consulting With Chikster.  
JW: what does he say?  
VT: She.  
JW: oh yeah.  
VT: Apparently The Big Noise Of These Parts Set Up The Cable Car System.  
VT: But It Doesn't Add Up.  
VT: I Think Something's Wrong.  
JW: why?  
VT: Their Tech Level Shouldn't Be Able To Support A Complex Machine Like That.  
JW: that's a good point.  
JW: so you think someone's been influencing them?  
VT: Most Likely.  
VT: But Why?  
VT: I Don't Think It Could Be For Any Good Reason.  
JW: it could be prospit's royalty trying to improve transport round the land in the case of invasion.  
VT: I Think I Would've Heard About It Were That The Case.  
JW: well, here's hoping.  
VT: Yes, Likewise. But I'm Not Super-Positive About It Right Now.  
VT: You Know, You Could Come And Help Me Out If You Find A Gate, Right?  
JW: yeah...  
JW: i'm kind of busy in my land though.  
JW: sorry.  
VT: Anything I Can Help With?  
JW: not really.  
JW: although if you could do some building next time you've got a moment...  
VT: I'll Boot Up The Macbook Next Chance I Get.  
JW: cheers.  
VT: Spoken To Ali Lately?  
JW: few hours ago.  
JW: why?  
VT: He's Been Struggling.  
JW: he's left his house now at least.  
JW: last i heard he was bitching about his land being difficult to get through.  
JW: seems like he slotted himself an ogre though, he picked up a pretty substantial chunk of diamond grist a while back.  
VT: Oh God Dammit.  
VT: I Still Haven't Actually Killed One Of Those Things Properly.  
JW: just improperly? the mind boggles...  
VT: Sigh.  
VT: You're As Bad As Ali.  
VT: I Had One At A Disadvantage But It Had The Poor Manners To Fall Through A Gate.  
VT: Then Off A Cliff.  
VT: Taking A Cable Car Station With It.  
JW: how inconsiderate.  
VT: I Know, Right?  
JW: you'll have your chance.  
VT: What Makes You Say That?  
JW: well, they're pretty common enemies.  
VT: They Are?  
JW: yeah, i've already fought like three. they're not so bad for me.  
VT: No?  
JW: nah, pistolkind is pretty effective against them to be honest.  
JW: what're you using at the moment?  
VT: NeedleKind.  
JW: really?  
VT: I'm Using The Octarine Needlewands At The Moment.  
JW: heh, they sound pretty sweet.  
JW: does barty know yet? reckon she'll be jealous.  
VT: I've Not Spoken To Her At Length For A While.  
VT: She Seems To Be Really Busy In Her Land.  
JW: well, you know what she's like once she sets her mind on something.  
VT: Yeah.  
VT: Hey, I Have A Question.  
JW: shoot.  
VT: How Did You Know About Prospit And Derse Before The Game?  
JW: it wasn't before the game.  
VT: It Was For You. You Were Still Waiting For Me To Get You In.  
JW: true.  
JW: i can't really talk about it now though.  
VT: What? Why Not?  
JW: i'll explain later.  
VT: Whobes, You're Coming Off Pretty Sketchy.  
JW: yeah, i know. can't be helped.  
VT: Look, Whatever Problem You're Going Through, You Have To Tell Me.  
VT: If It's That Serious Then It's Going To Need Dealing With If You Fail.  
JW: i won't fail then.  
VT: So It Is Something You Can Succeed Or Fail At Then.  
JW: we're not having this discussion.  
VT: Please, Whobes. We're Only Trying To Help.  
JW: we?  
VT: Shit.  
JW: did ali put you up to this?  
VT: I Would've Said Something Anyway.  
VT: I Thought We Were Supposed To Be A Team Here.  
JW: we are.  
JW: a team is never something that we stopped being.  
VT: Then Why Are You Keeping Secrets From Us?  
JW: i'm keeping you safe.  
JW: let me do it in peace.  
VT: ...  
VT: If That's What You Want, Fine.  
VT: But It Was Your Fucking Idea To Play This Game. Everyone That's Been Killed Is Dead Because Of You.  
JW: i know that.  
VT: When You Decide You're Fed Up Of Pretending To Be Aloof And Unaffected We'll Be Waiting For Your Apology.  
VT: Assuming A Single Word You've Said To Me Is True And You Didn't Just Stab Us In The Back For Some Incredible Reason.  
JW: i can't believe you think i wanted this to happen.  
JW: my parents are dead too, you know!  
VT: No, I Don't Know!  
VT: Because You Won't Fucking Tell Me Anything!  
JW: because if i tell you, you'll die too!  
JW: and not just once.  
JW: you don't get that luxury.  
JW: you'll die over and over again and i'll have to watch, and i'm just not capable of doing that right now, ok?  
JW: there's too much i already regret.  
JW: i might've already said too much just with this.  
JW: fuck.  
JW: i have to go.  
VT: Jake...  
VT: I Don't Know What You're Up To.  
VT: But If It Gets Too Much For You Please Come To Us First.  
VT: Don't Do Anything Stupid.  
JW: it's way too late for that.  
JW: but thank you.  
JW: look after yourself.  
VT: And You.  
VT: Please.

 

Well, now you really don't know what to think. Except to be rather disturbed that for once Ali seems to be onto something. What did Whobes mean about you dying over and over? How would that even be possible? If this game has a lives system, you've not seen any evidence of it. The idea is deeply troubling now that you think about it though.

Consortlog:

CHIKSTER: Was everything alright with your friend?  
TINA: Not Really.  
CHIKSTER: Oh? Why's that?  
TINA: Something's Very Wrong With Him, But He Won't Tell Me Why.  
CHIKSTER: Why would he behave like that?  
TINA: I'm Not Sure. He Says He's Trying To Protect Me, But He's Frightening Me, To Be Honest.  
CHIKSTER: He must have a reason for it.  
TINA: Yes. I'm Just Not Sure It's The Right Reason. Or Even A Good Reason.  
CHIKSTER: Is there anything else you want to do with your magic ball?  
TINA: No, Chikster. I Think We Should Head To The Cable Car.  
CHIKSTER: Right!  
TINA: I'm Still Confused About It Though.  
CHIKSTER: You're not the only one! I don't think anyone really understands how it works. Except the High Chancellor, obviously.  
TINA: Yes, I Shall Be Sure To Ask Her About That.  
CHIKSTER: I wish I could come with you!  
TINA: Yes, I Would Be Much Happier If I Had Someone To Introduce Me.  
CHIKSTER: Oh, I don't think I'd be much good at that. I've never even met her myself. I'd need someone to introduce me before I could introduce you!  
TINA: Does Anyone Else Live Up There With Her?  
CHIKSTER: I dunno. Probably!  
CHIKSTER: Maybe a butler or someone.  
CHIKSTER: Hey, Tina?  
TINA: Yes, Chiks?  
CHIKSTER: You're coming back down, right?  
TINA: I Certainly Hope So. At Some Point.  
CHIKSTER: Tell me all about it, OK?  
TINA: I'll Do My Best.  
CHIKSTER: Good!  
CHIKSTER: Come on, it's this way! Not much further now!

She scuttles up the tunnel wall and waves you on ahead, pointing left at the upcoming fork. You can smell the tunnel air getting cooler and fresher as you walk. You can hear the faint sound of wind as well -- you are rather high up at this point after all, although you're a poor judge of altitude at the best of times. And, as you crest the latest slope in the tunnel, you also hear a low grunting sound. Or rather, sounds. Chikster hears it too, and she starts scuttling faster towards the tunnel opening that you can almost see now, the daylight it lets into the tunnel carrying around the kink up ahead. The grunting noises grow louder and louder as well. You have a very bad feeling about this...

You burst out of the tunnel into the light, shading your eyes with one long jack sleeve as they adjust to the light. From underneath it you can see thick, tree-trunk legs, golden yellow, surrounding a small cabin of sorts. Raising your arm, you can see them: two ogres, attempting to pull down the cable car station.  
Fuck That Shit.

In the blink of an eye your Needlewands are in your hands, and with a dramatic flourish, purple light arcs out of the end, tangling around one of the brutes and pinning its arms to its sides. It roars, and its companion relinquishes its hold on the shack to turn and face you. This one also sports the tentacles you'd been less than pleased to note in the ogre you fought previously. You back up, letting it stomp forward, away from the cable car station, careful to leave a wide gap between those powerful tentacles and yourself.

You lash out again, this time aiming for the legs. The beast is fettered by the same ribbons of purple light restraining the second ogre, its legs bound together in a horrible tangle of magic. The thwarted brute roars and struggles forward, but cannot lift its legs clear and crashes to the ground. Chikster lets out a high shrieking warcry. Or war-chik, but whatever. She launches herself onto the creature's back, burying herself in the mat of dense fur that runs onto the back of its head, and starts flailing at it with her small but keen claws. You shout her name but it seems there is no deterring her.  
Meanwhile the second ogre, with a throaty cry, bursts free of the violet fetters you'd pinioned it with, holding its newly-freed arms over its head triumphantly. As you look around, surveying the battlefield, such as it is, it lumbers forward, ignoring its prone comrade and heading straight for you. In a fit of irritation, you whip your hand around and snap your thumb against your middle finger. A spray of fireworks launches from the tip of the Needlewand in that hand, exploding in a wide arc that blinds it for a few moments, but doing only superficial damage. You emulate Chikster's war cry with a shriek of your own that you would have thought entirely beyond you only twenty-four hours ago. Strange what a difference a day makes.  
You charge forward, the tips of your wands leaving hot purple trails behind as you run, leaping at its exposed belly while it clutches at its face. These wands can cut through rock with a mere expression of your discontent. In the fire of battle, the soft, gold-plated carapace of these brutes is nothing more than paper to you. You slice down, and deep, tearing through the soft pale flesh underneath like a hot knife through butter. The ogre screams, and flails its arms and legs, panicked by the pain and the blindness. You land, but not well, and are caught off guard by the madly lashing leg that whips through the air and connects, digging into your side and sending you careening through the air. You feel something at your back, absorbing the blow, and you feel it splinter under your momentum. It slows you down, though, and the pain sharpens your senses so that, when you open your eyes again, you can see the ceiling of the cable car shack. And the wall that you just got kicked through. You hear another scream; this one much higher than any ogre, and struggle to your feet, wincing as you do so against the pain. If it occurs to you that you probably shouldn't still be conscious after such a heavy blow, you push it to the back of your mind. Your friend is in trouble.

You stagger out of the shack. The ogre who just kicked you twenty feet through the air has regained its vision, but is holding the foot-long wound in its gut with one meaty hand as it hobbles towards its comrade, which is still bound but has snared Chikster in one of its gruesome tentacles, swinging her through the air even as it slowly constricts her. As much as a small part of you really wants to learn what colour a teal gecko turns when asphyxiated you can't let that happen to your friend.  
 _Let her go!_ you cry through the cool cliffside air, and you are surprised at the authority in it. It appears even the ogres are a little taken aback, as the wounded one pauses in its approach for a moment, looking up at the source of the noise, its face twisting into a hideous scowl as it recognises you. The other's tentacles cease writhing, and it relents a little in its grip as the brute twists in search of the voice's source. It sees you, and snarls gruffly, redoubling its efforts to free its legs from the tight restraints. They look like they'll hold for now, but just to make sure, you thrust your wands into the sky in a fit of spite before swinging them down swiftly like you're conducting an orchestra. Long spears of ice plunge out of the sky, and impale the thing's legs, pinning it to the ground. It roars again in pain, and begins lashing around with its tentacles once more.  
You didn't really think that through.  
The upright ogre is lumbering towards you now, still clutching its belly, but you make a beeline for the grounded one, ducking underneath its empty tentacle as it whips out at you, and leaping up onto the creature's furry back to slash at the one snaring Chikster. It rocks towards you, and you lash out with your wands, glowing white with irresistable force.  
You realise a split-second too late you've misjudged your attack. Attempting to correct your swing as the tentacle hoves at you, you catch it a fleeting blow, scoring the flesh but doing no harm. It is not so feeble, slamming into you with force almost as great as that of the other ogre's foot. The lower half of the tentacle, twice as thick as your arm at its base, slams into you like a tree trunk, sending you sprawling and rolling off the creature and sliding painfully across the hard ground. Your jack takes the brunt of the damage, but even it cannot shield you from the breath the hefty tentacle stole from your lungs. You shudder as you come to a halt, arms crossed over your chest, fighting to regain your breath before the ogres can reach you and brutalise you further. No use-- it feels as if you will never breath again, like something inside you has been crushed.

With a herculean effort, gasping for air, you extend your hands and flick your wrists, lashing a tangled barrier together with the power of your wands. Without the full force of your will behind it, though, it is weak and brittle. You pray you can recover sufficiently before your foes brush it aside. You struggle and wheeze, and slowly, your lungs begin to fill with air again. You can see through the webbing that the untentacled ogre is making its way towards you, arm raised to sunder the barrier. A deep, wheezing breath is all you need to stagger to your feet, and swing the wands in tight arcs over each other. A long, purple ribbon materialises around the ogre's thick, muscular neck, and with another gesture it tightens. The ogre stomps on, not appearing to notice at first. Then, a deep growl issues from its throat, and it lowers its free arm to grasp helplessly at the cord throttling it. Even from here you can hear the sound of its exoskeleton compressing, its flesh underneath squeezed between the heavy golden plates. Its big, thick fingers are not delicate enough to grasp the slender ribbon, but with your magic, it's more than strong enough to choke the life out of it. While it struggles to hook its fingers between the cord and its neck, you shuffle past and prepare to do what you should've done to begin with. You approach the grounded ogre. It doubles its efforts as you approach, your wands thrumming with energy, and reaches out with its thick, stubby arms to try and grab you, swat you away, anything-- but all it can do is wriggle like a trussed pig, which is, you reflect, apt.  
Your breath has returned now. You see the limp form of Chikster hanging from its flailing tentacle, and grit your teeth in cold rage. With a scream, you let loose blast after blast of furious, octarine energy.  
The ogre howls at first, but that ceases soon enough when the terrible force cracks its head open like an egg. You can't get carried away though, because as this happens its tentacles writhe in one last defiant spasm, and Chikster is released-- and flung helpless into the air, sailing over the edge of the cliffside. You scramble, run to the lip of the overhang, whip your wands out and weave something like a hammock out underneath her to catch, before reeling the whole thing in. You decide to leave her sling hanging off a jutting branch below. It's safer than leaving her to be trampled by the other ogre. Speaking of...  
You turn to face the battle. The ogre that had been nailed to the floor has gone to pieces, gold and blue Grist scattered everywhere. The other has managed at last to cast off the choking cord tormenting it, and incensed beyond reason, is rumbling towards you at full pace, herniated innards hanging from its gut wound. You set your feet apart and summon your strength. This time you're really going to give it something to remember.

Exhausted, legs wobbling as you stagger over to your friend, you stoop and pick up Vitality Gel to restore you both.

Consortlog:

TINA: Chikster?  
TINA: I Have Something For You.  
TINA: I Think It'll Make You Feel Better.  
TINA: You Just Need To Eat It, Alright?

You don't know if it'll work, but it hasn't failed yet for you. These ogres drop a lot of the stuff, and it's not as if you can really take it with you; it doesn't have a Captcha code, and it dissolves in contact with body heat. Then again, you really only have to touch the gel for it to be absorbed into your body. Chikster doesn't seem to have the same response to it.

Consortlog:

TINA: Come On, Chikster, You Have To Open Your Mouth.  
TINA: If You Can Hear Me, Please Open Your Mouth.

It's no use. She's breathing-- rattling, shallow breaths that hurt to listen to, but surely, a good sign. You don't know much about anatomy; less about the anatomy of vaguely anthropomorphic gecko creatures, but there doesn't seem to be any permanent damage done that you can see. You just want her to ingest the Gel somehow and perk up, like you did. You didn't ask her to fling herself into the fray like that. You hadn't expected her to. You'd thought she'd be more pragmatic, like the rest of her kind. Why did you fill her head with all those fairy tales of knights and brave warriors? This is all your fault!

Consortlog:

TINA: I'm Sorry, Chik. I'm So Sorry.  
TINA: I Didn't Want You To Get Involved In All Of This.  
CHIKSTER: Tina...  
TINA: Chik?  
CHIKSTER: It hurts...  
TINA: You Need To Eat This, Chik. It'll Make You Feel Better.

She lowers her jaw a little, and you're able to press a corner of the gel cube into her mouth. She chews on a tiny bite of it before her head sinks back into the crook of your arm. You wait for any response, but her breathing doesn't become any less pained, nor does she regain any proper state of consciousness.  
That does it. You're not going to sit around and watch this gecko who risked her life for you suffer and die. The least you can do is try and repay the favour. You scoop her up in your arms, gather the rest of the Grist, and head for the cable car hut.

The hut itself is mercifully easy to understand. There's a rudimentary engine that operates the cable. The car itself is very small-- it would've been uncomfortably snug as it was without an additional passenger. Carrying Chikster it's going to be dangerously tight. You don't know if the car will be able to take the weight, but you have to try. You lash a few extra cords around the pulleys from which your car is suspended, in the hope that distributing the weight might ameliorate the additional strain. Otherwise you're out of ideas-- you have to get Chikster to someone that can help her, and if half of what's been said about this High Chancellor is true, it might just be within her power.  
You fire up the engine and carefully step in, Chikster's still form balanced on your lap. Here goes.


	17. We Are Members of The Twilight Crew

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celeste is beginning to experience some peculiar reactions to her role, while Ali is reliably devoted to complaining about his lot.

You are now the somewhat alarming young woman with the cutlass. You have just slaughtered a dropship full of imps. And you don't really remember doing it.  
Huh.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: ...Prisoner?  
CELESTE: What is it???  
TATTERFRILL: Are ye done?  
CELESTE: Can you see anything left to kill???  
TATTERFRILL: Nay, definitely not.  
CELESTE: Then Im finished...  
CELESTE: For now \\_/  
TATTERFRILL: Right y'are, right y'are.  
TATTERFRILL: Er...  
TATTERFRILL: Shall we shove off?  
CELESTE: Hmm???  
TATTERFRILL: Ye said ye wanted to get goin'. Had a...a hankerin' for pillagin' some luckless Dark Kingdom skydogs.  
CELESTE: Yes...lets do that...  
TATTERFRILL: On we go then! Skipper! Back t'the ship with ye! Get goin'!

Kinktail and Tatterfrill both scurry over to your ship as fast as they can, leaving you to regain your breath, pick up the scattered Grist fragments and try and put the pieces back together.  
You remember throwing the Blast, and it getting deflected. You remember the cannons hitting the dropship and the imps abandoning ship in droves, landing on the ruined deck. You remember being horribly outnumbered, cutlass in hand. And then, blank. Until you were stood there, panting, several new dents in your armour and cuts on your arms and legs, nothing but two astonished lizards standing there agog, and a peculiar feeling bubbling in your guts like how you felt after the first time you sang in front of a live audience. You feel full of vim, raw, hungry, impatient. Like you're charged from head to toe with it. You almost want to fight some more, or find Daryl and start tearing his clothes off. Except, of course, he's probably dead by now. Or will be soon. You can't think about that though. Not too closely. Your mind keeps sliding off its surface, like a polished mirror, and even touching on it just makes those strange feelings in your gut bubble up a little higher. It's frightening, kind of.  
You're a sensible person, most of the time. Really! You don't tend to have gaps in your memory-- a few ill-advised experiments in your uni days notwithstanding-- but you're worried. Perhaps you're losing your mind. No-one would blame you for that. Nothing's made sense since the Game started. Perhaps the Game never really existed and you've all just gone mad together. That's about as likely a scenario as anything else that's happened today.

At least you've been making progress in the Game. Assuming you're not actually just mental and imagining it. Considering the size of the mob you seem to have just reduced to their constituent elements, you're almost disappointed you didn't level again. You suppose perhaps the amount of experience your enemies yield might be informed by the difficulty they present.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Pris-- Uh, Celeste?  
TATTERFRILL: Be ye finished over there?  
TATTERFRILL: Not t'hurry ye or nothing...  
CELESTE: I'm coming...

You're not sure you want to tell the others about this. On the one hand, it might be some part of the natural progression of your powers that Jarethsprite mentioned. They might be experiencing similar things. Or maybe they'll be horrified. That'd be the absolute last thing you need right now.  
You hop over onto the smaller ship, while the lizards work on bringing her about after hacking her free from her successful ram. You have to admit she's holding up well. The Captain does seem to know his tubs.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: Alright!!!  
CELESTE: Lets go!!!  
TATTERFRILL: Sure thing. Where to?  
CELESTE: Where are we likely to find more dersians???  
TATTERFRILL: I be not rightly sure, Celeste.  
TATTERFRILL: Skipper! Take the helm!

Kinktail scampers forward to take over the ship's wheel. Tatterfrill pulls up his little belt, and strides across to the mast to reach the crow's nest. The eagle's refuge. Whatever. You wait for him to return, tapping at your gauntlet to check if anyone's been in touch in the meantime. You hope that Jane girl's not been poking around again. Jesus fuck she was annoying.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

VT: Hi Celeste.  
VT: Hope You're Getting On Alright. Just Thought I Would Give You An Update.  
VT: Since You're Probably Super-Busy Still In Your World.  
VT: I Can Only See What's Going On In Your House/Boat/Thing. Jarethsprite Has Been Fending Off The Imps For You. There Was An Ogre That Showed Up But He Kind Of Tied It Up In Bandages And Mummified It Or Something?  
VT: You Might Want To Ask Him About That Next Time You See Him. It Was Pretty Odd.  
VT: Even By Our Current Standards.  
VT: But Yeah, Next Time You're Alchemising, If You Could Make Some Kind Of Camera To Take With You That Would Mean I Could Scry On You And Make Sure You're Doing Alright.

 

Uh.

 

CB: Hey tina...  
CB: I will definitely check up with jareth later!!!  
CB: But im not that comfortable with the idea of you watching me...  
VT: It Wouldn't Be Weird Or Anything!  
VT: Just In Case Something Went Wrong!  
CB: Sorry tina...  
CB: I just dont want to right now -_-  
VT: Is Something Wrong?  
CB: No nothings wrong...  
CB: It just kind of creeps me out...  
VT: Oh.  
VT: I Think I'm Kind Of Supposed To Do It Though.  
VT: I Mean, The Game Chose The Title Of Seer For Me.  
VT: It Must Want Me To Do Some Seeing, Right?  
CB: Are you sure thats what it means???  
CB: Maybe its like metaphorical seeing or something...  
VT: I Suppose That's Possible.  
VT: I'm On My Way To Talk To Someone Who Might Have Some Answers, Actually.  
CB: Really???  
CB: Who???  
VT: She's Called The High Chancellor. She's Apparently The Leader Of My Consorts, And She Lives At The Top Of My Cliff, By The Forge.  
CB: The forge???  
VT: Yeah I Have No Idea. Hopefully She'll Know Something About That Too.  
VT: Mainly Though I'm Hoping She Can Heal My Friend.  
CB: What friend???  
CB: Did something bad happen???  
VT: One Of The Consorts Decided To Come Along With Me. She Helped Me Fight Two Ogres But She Got Badly Injured. The Vitality Gel's Not Working On Her So I Need To Find Someone Who Knows How To Treat Geckoes.  
CB: Oh my god im sorry!!!  
CB: Is there anything i can do???  
VT: Other Than Cross Your Fingers, I Don't Think So.  
VT: But Thanks.  
CB: How is she holding up???  
VT: Her Breathing's More Or Less Regular. But It's Very Shallow.  
VT: She's On My Lap Right Now. I Wish There Was More I Could Do.  
CB: How long before you reach that chancellor gecko???  
VT: Not Long, I Hope.  
VT: It's Hard To Tell. The Cable Car Kind Of Tracks Around The Cliff, I Can't See How Much Further It Is.  
VT: But We're Pretty High Up. It's Cold Up Here, Even In The Car.  
CB: Your land has cable cars???  
CB: Im jealous!!! Were getting around in sailboats over here!!!  
CB: Without any wind \\_/  
VT: How Does That Work?  
CB: Slooowly...  
CB: Sorry ive got to get back!!!  
CB: My captains finished with his looking out so we should be heading on!!!  
VT: OK, Well, Stay In Touch.  
CB: You too!!!  
CB: I really hope your friend gets the help she needs!!! Ill pray for her...  
VT: Thank You.  
VT: Take Care.  
CB: And you!!! Bye!!!

cleopatrasBard [CB] ceased pestering voraciousThespian [VT]

 

You hate to hold out on her. Especially when there's already enough in this game you're all in the dark about! But you really don't want to risk having another weird blackout while she might be watching. You're totally going to tell the others once you've worked out what's going on. Just not right now. No reason to give them another unknown to worry themselves over.

Tatterfrill reaches the bottom of the ladder and hops down, jingling as he lands. He looks relieved.

Consortlog:

TATTERFRILL: Well, I have some good news for ye.  
CELESTE: Oh???  
TATTERFRILL: I sighted a vessel off the starboard bow. Still a fair distance away. Reckon it won't take us that long to drift over. It don't look t'be going anywhere.  
CELESTE: Anyone on board???  
TATTERFRILL: Far as I can make out, aye. More o' the imps, wouldn't wonder.  
CELESTE: Lets take em down!!!  
TATTERFRILL: Let's.

You watch him waddle off to go and relay new orders to his skipper. He's still acting kind of funny around you. Not like his usual self at all. Not that you're sorry he's stopped calling you 'Prisoner' or anything, it's just another reminder that something is not quite right. And it's not like you can ask him what's going on. You'll probably just scare him even more. Or he'll realise that you're not in full control of your actions, decide you're too dangerous to be allowed to roam around the ship and have you tied up below deck.  
Which is silly, really. You're not dangerous. Just very freaked out. It's not like you're going to flip out and kill him and Kinktail, that's the last thing you want to do. But knowing him he'll be all paranoid and stuff. Silly Tatterfrill.  
He finishes talking to Kinktail and heads down below deck, avoiding your gaze. Going to man the bellows. Or lizard them. Whatever.

 

You are now the desert wanderer.

You kind of wish you were anywhere else other than wandering the desert right now. Though the salamanders did their best to be hospitable, and the food was tasty, if not filling, there was nothing they could do to make the desert more bearable. You're not sure how long you've been walking now, but even in spite of the cool air (all the more noticeable now you're gaining altitude, heading into stronger desert breezes) your shirt sticks to your back, and sweat rolls down your face and neck, misting your glasses. Every so often you have to stop and wipe them clean, and every time you do there are more and more grains of sand that have somehow insinuated their way into your glasses case, the creases of your clammy palms, the frames. You desperately need to Alchemise some replacements before this pair just get scratched beyond all use. You half-want to take off your waistcoat, which being watertight is not helping with the perspiration, but like fuck are you leaving yourself exposed when you have no idea what you're walking into. You have, however, Captchalogued everything else, including your shoes and socks, given that they have by this point doubled in mass from the combination of sweat and sand. You hate it all. You hate the sensation of sand between your toes, getting snarled everywhere it can. But this way at least your feet are cool, sinking into the dunes cool and white, again and again.

The Grandparents were kind enough to give you rough directions-- the desert not being especially abundant with landmarks. You think you're on track now. It's difficult to tell, considering the occasional scraps you get into, with imps and the occasional ogre. Now you know how to take the oversided brutes down, though, you've not had that many problems. You're a little disheartened that your progression up your Echeladder seems to have petered out though. Perhaps you need to wrap your mace around something a little more challenging. You imagine you'll get rather more than you bargained for very shortly. You just passed the rock shaped like a cactus on its side. According to the Grandparents, you should be able to see the caveside in which the secret entrance lies once you crest this last dune.  
They told you that there is typically only a single Djinn guarding the entrance-- since they've never suffered a successful attack, they can afford to be lax with their security-- although they are unsure as to whether the presence of the Dark Kingdom's forces will have influenced their routine at all.  
You asked them whether they've seen Djinn commanding or working in direct partnership with the Dersian forces, but their intelligence is incomplete on the subject. They can only posit that it is a possibility and one to be prepared for.  
You asked them how one could possibly prepare for a shapeshifter accompanied by Dark Kingdom underlings, when any of the underlings could themselves be one of the Djinn. They didn't really know how to respond to that. You, on the other hand, really wish these salamanders knew more about the racial enemy they'd purportedly been resisting for god knows how long. They were outnumbered, of course. But there were ways of circumventing that. You're not entirely convinced they've not just been running from every fight they get into. Then again-- if that were the case the Son would probably not have fared so well against that Ogre.  
You've been trying to figure out how to get the lens they gave you to work, in the hope that it'll reveal the true form of any Djinn you encounter, but you think you're out of your depth. Mostly it just makes things orange and blurry. Not much of a step up.

As you reach the summit of the dune you've been traipsing up for what feels like hours, you can see your destination, across the dip (there would have to be a dip, wouldn't there?). No lights, but you don't need them to see the outline of the rock face. You think you can pick out movement about half of the way up, although there's no guarantee that's where the entrance is. You decide to aim for that point anyway. It doesn't look too steep at that level, and it looks like it'll yield a decent view of the rest of the face if you need to survey once you're up there. You're hoping it won't be too much of a trek, though.  
You hunker down on the side of the dune not facing the crag, and brush the sweat from your face as best you can. Smearing sand over it as you do. Fucking sand.  
You unspool your Scrollbook. Figure you might as well let someone know your progress before you go off on this fool's errand.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Wotcher Barty.  
CB: hey ali!!!  
AN: Sup, Client?  
CB: Were on our way to fuck up some imps on a boat!!!  
AN: Glad to Hear it.  
AN: We?  
CB: Me and my consorts...  
CB: Didnt i tell you???  
AN: I don't Believe you did, no.  
CB: Oh sorry!!!  
CB: I kind of lose track of who ive spoke to about what...  
CB: Got so much going on at the moment!!!  
AN: That's Understandable. I Imagine we're all in the same Boat Regarding that.  
CB: Hee!!!  
CB: Well i was arrested for piracy after bringing my consorts a boat!!! >_>  
CB: But it worked out ok in the end...  
CB: Were friends now!!! Kind of...  
AN: Kind of?  
CB: Weeell, im strictly speaking their prisoner...  
CB: But theyre treating me well and helping me out!!!  
AN: So long as you're Alright.  
CB: Oh dont worry about me!!!  
AN: You just told me you're in the Power of a Skyfaring race of Lizards.  
AN: Forgive me if that doesn't Festoon me with Confidence.  
CB: Seriously though im doing ok!!!  
CB: Whats up with you???  
AN: Consort shit.  
AN: Just about to attempt a Commando-style Infiltration of an enemy Stronghold in order to free the Enslaved Consorts held Within.  
CB: Sounds important!!!  
CB: Also dangerous >_>  
AN: Yeah, I am Bricking it to some Extent.  
AN: Thought it would be a good idea to Inform someone in the Event of a Communications Blackout on my end.  
CB: Agreed!!!  
CB: Is there anything i can do???  
AN: Don't suppose you've Encountered any Lore about a race of Beings known as Djinn?  
CB: Not really sorry...  
AN: Well, it was a Long Shot.  
CB: I mean i only know what ive read in egypt but i dont know how relevant thatll be...  
AN: Can't hurt.  
CB: True!!!  
CB: Ok lemme think...  
CB: Its said they were made from fire like we were made of clay...  
CB: Their master is called iblis the first rebel from heaven...  
CB: They have many shapes which they can choose at will...  
CB: And they are trickster beings that are selfish and capricious!!!  
AN: Made from fire, eh?  
AN: Don't like the Sound of That.  
AN: The Salamanders said they Sustain themselves on the Fires that burn in this Land.  
AN: The fires of every Wish made.  
CB: Pretty creepy!!!  
AN: Yep. So be Careful with the 'w' Word.  
CB: Will do!!!  
AN: I was Told they can Ascertain things about the Person who made the Wish after Ingesting it.  
AN: Or Whatever it is they Do with them.  
AN: It's Important that we try and stay Under their Radar for the moment.  
AN: Figuratively Speaking, of course. I don't think Radar is Something they Have.  
AN: Well, I Hope it isn't.  
AN: Oh christ what if they have Radar?  
CB: Im sure they dont!!!  
CB: I think the enemies are just supposed to be challenging not unfair ^_^  
CB: In my land they use dropships but they dont have guns...  
AN: Dropships. Yes, I remember. Hardly seems in keeping with the pirate theme.  
CB: Well theyre quicker than using the sailboats!!!  
CB: Mind you walking is pretty much quicker than using the sailboats with the sky so calm...  
CB: Its so frustrating!!! I can see the enemy over there but we have to drift over there so slowly!!!  
AN: At least you have Transport.  
AN: My feet are Killing Me.  
AN: Have I told you Recently how much I Hate Sand?  
CB: I dont think so...  
AN: I've been Composing a Poem.  
AN: O Sand How do I Hate Thee  
AN: Let me Count the Ways  
AN: Fairly sure by the time I'm done Homer won't have Shit on me.  
CB: I can only wait with bated breath >_>  
AN: Darn Tootin'.  
CB: So good luck with the liberation of your salamander buddies!!!  
AN: Thank you. Likewise, I wish you Fortune in your Glacially-Paced Maritime Dersian Hunt.  
CB: xxx  
AN: Yes, That Too.

cleopatrasBard [CB] has ceased pestering averseNotary [AN]


	18. Heedless Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Operation Consortspring is underway, featuring sand where sand ought not to be, a dash of highly superfluous Shakespeare references, and Lists both real and hypothetical.

You are now the dunetop watcher.

You can see the secret entrance to the Djinn stronghold on the cliff opposite. It's quite the climb, and not unguarded, from what you're told. But it's not light enough to make out any such fine details.  
But you pretty much can't put this off any longer. It's not like cover of night is going to fall or anything. You'll have to just gauge where the guard is likely to be looking and try to quickly (but not too quickly) slither down the other side of this bank out of its field of vision. What you wouldn't give for a sledge right now.

Scrambling down the dune is easy enough, once you get the hang of it. It's not what you would call dignified, by any stretch of the imagination, but it gets the job done, and it involves a minimum of sand finding its way into your underwear. A minimum is still too much, as far as you're concerned. You console yourself with the thought that on your safe return with a crew of grateful consorts, you'll be escorted straight to one of your gates: with any luck, one that'll beam you straight off this rock and into one of your friends' infinitely more inviting Lands. Where you can have a shower and forget all about sand nestling snug between your shapely buttocks.  
Well, you're still in two minds about the Land of Cliffs and Frogs but frankly as long as it doesn't feature sand it's a step up in your book.   
You reach the bottom of the dune. From here it's all uphill, and where the sand gives way to rock, you'll be picking your way up. It's not actually terribly sheer at all, but you still can't for the life of you see where the entrance is supposed to be. Squinting up there, you think you can see approximately where you decided you'd aim for earlier. You begin your ascent, ready to whip out your mace and Strife at the slightest provocation. No telling what this Djinn will be disguised as.

Foelog:

SALAMANDER: Hello.

You look over your shoulder. Given that you're currently clinging to a ridge jutting out over the rest of the face, you're not in the best position, but this is unfortunately the only way to get the height you need to clamber up to the entrance, as you see it.

The salamander appears a little off, and it's not until it blinks that you notice why. In place of eyes it has a pair of smouldering embers that pulse red-yellow. Yep. This is it.

Foelog:

ALI: Excuse Me.  
SALAMANDER: What an odd form you're wearing.  
SALAMANDER: I wasn't expecting to be relieved for a while, but you're welcome to it.  
ALI: Thought I'd show Willing. See how the Salamanders would try and get up here if they ever attempted a Rescue.   
SALAMANDER: Hah! They've not tried one of those for a dozen moons at least.  
ALI: Hah! Can you Imagine?  
SALAMANDER: How are you doing that thing with your eyes? It's weird.  
ALI: Oh, these old Things? ...Just a simple Masking effect. Had to practice for a bit to get the Transparency right.  
SALAMANDER: Not bad. Not bad. What are they for?  
ALI: Oh, they keep the Sand out of my eyes.  
SALAMANDER: Fair enough. I don't bother with them myself.  
ALI: I can see That.  
ALI: Soo...  
SALAMANDER: Have they entered yet?  
ALI: Hm?  
SALAMANDER: Those heroes. The prophecy? There've been whispers in the palace that they've arrived. The minions have been morphing.  
ALI: Oh yeah. Sorry, the Climb's taken it out of me Somewhat. Not quite used to this Form. Let me Just get onto the ledge.  
SALAMANDER: No problem.  
ALI: I haven't Heard anything, have to say.  
SALAMANDER: Thought maybe you'd heard a description you were trying out.  
ALI: That...would make a lot of sense, wouldn't it.  
SALAMANDER: Yep.  
ALI: Nah. Mainly I'm just Wearing it for Shits and Giggles.  
ALI: Reckon they'd be Much Bigger than This.  
ALI: Probably Braver-Looking, too.  
SALAMANDER: Probably.  
ALI: Anyway, I'll let you Get On.  
SALAMANDER: What's that?  
ALI: Oh, I thought you'd want to Leave now I've come to Relieve you.  
SALAMANDER: Oh right, of course.   
SALAMANDER: Ooops.  
ALI: What's that?  
SALAMANDER: Forgot to ask for the password.  
ALI: Of course.  
SALAMANDER: ...

You wrack your brains desperately for some sort of clue, before reverting to Plan B. The Silverstar Companion drops neatly into your hands and before the Djinn can so much as protest, you've launched it over the side like a golf ball.

Conversation was getting boring anyway. You peer over the side, in the hope of seeing a body far below on the sand. Instead you see something very much like a bat and also very much like a jackal rising through the air, its eyes no longer smoulders but huge, billowing flames that lick out of its eye sockets like roaring forest fires.  
Uh oh.  
It reaches your altitude, and holds there, beating its great leathery wings, lips pulled back to reveal the curve of its scowl, the savage sickle-shape of its many, many teeth.

Foelog:

DJINN: I really ought to have expected that.  
ALI: Yeah, I was kind of Surprised I got that far.  
DJINN: So you must be the Hero of this Land.  
ALI: So folk keep Saying.  
DJINN: You were right about one thing. A Hero ought to be a lot bigger and braver than you.  
ALI: You say that. Just means it'll be more Humilating when I Kick your Arse all the way down this fucking Cliff.  
DJINN: Please. You can't possibly be intimating your martial superiority to a being as tireless and mutable as flame?  
ALI: Booted your Sorry Salamander Booty over the side.  
DJINN: And look how your situation has improved.  
ALI: Wait. Tireless?  
DJINN: Yes.  
ALI: What makes you say that?  
DJINN: Unlike you and your similarly puny cohorts, we are creatures of abstract principle, eternal as the desire which created us. Our powers are not constricted by such trifles as the physical limits of flesh.  
ALI: But all your Sound and Fury can't touch me.  
DJINN: Which is why we favour teeth and claws for getting the hurly-burly done.  
ALI: So you are Constricted then!  
DJINN: I'm not interested in your sophistry.  
DJINN: We are stronger than you. You are doomed to fail, so-called Hero.  
DJINN: You will die, and the consorts who have shepherded you to your death will die too.  
DJINN: I'm just happy I get to be the one to do it.  
ALI: You haven't done Anything yet apart from turn into some butt-ugly two-bit Monster I've already killed Millions of before I even Came to this Land. I just Hope your Race proves a Greater Challenge than the last I Scourged from a World.  
DJINN: ...You're bluffing.  
ALI: Only they didn't try to Bore me to death First.  
DJINN: Oh.  
DJINN: Wow. That's, uh...  
DJINN: You've really hurt my feelings there.  
DJINN: I'm serious, I'm in pain over here. On the inside.  
DJINN: I'd say I'm liable to make some overdramatic and rage-fuelled attempt to attack after your scintillating verbal barbs, no doubt leaving me hopelessly vulnerable to a counterstrike.  
DJINN: You must think I was hatched ye--  
ALI: More or Less.

You watch as the carelessly contemptuous Djinn plummets downwards, your ejected Prototype Morningstar still deeply embedded in its neck. You don't think you're going to get it back. Oh well.

Foelog:

ALI: Score one for Sophistry.

You decide to update your friends on your stunning victory.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Hey Barty.  
CB: Ahoy matey ^_^  
AN: Yes.  
AN: Just thought I should Inform you.  
AN: I'll be Proceeding into the Djinn stronghold now.  
CB: Wow!!!  
CB: Hows the commandoing going???  
AN: Can't complain.   
AN: Just defeated my first Djinn through a Combination of Obfuscatory Stupidity, Shameless Bluffing and Liberal Application of Very Large Maces.  
CB: Sounds like an excellent strategy!!!  
AN: Don't think I'll get much Mileage out of it Inside though.  
AN: Also I'm not Sure I Killed it.  
CB: How come???  
AN: Well, I Smashed it out of the Sky and down a Cliffside.  
AN: But it survived the Drop the First time.  
AN: Unless I hit it hard enough to Daze it it can Probably shapeshift into something that wouldn't Suffer critical Existence failure in that kind of Situation.  
AN: Like a Cockroach.  
CB: Maybe you could make a weapon more likely to stun your opponents???  
AN: There's an Idea.  
AN: I'll add it to the List.  
CB: Heehee!!! You have a list too???  
AN: Figuratively.  
CB: Oh...  
CB: Yeah me too >_>  
AN: OK, well, just Thought I should Let You Know.  
AN: I'm Going to Try and use Stealth from Here on out, so this will Likely be the Last Time I contact you until the Conclusion of my Mission.  
AN: Successful or Otherwise.  
CB: Dont say that ali!!!  
CB: Im sure youll be fiiine!!!  
CB: Just use your head and dont be afraid to improvise!!!  
AN: I Shall Attempt to.  
AN: Thanks.  
CB: Good luck!!!  
AN: See you on the Other Side.

averseNotary [AN] ceased pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

 

You rub your fingers against the amber lens in your waistcoat pocket, and take a deep breath as you step into the cave. The first thing you notice is how much warmer it is inside. You'd been enjoying the pleasant evening breeze, but that dies away almost the moment you venture beneath the high ceiling-- replaced with a cloying, heavy atmosphere that uncomfortably resembles walking into a dry sauna. Or possibly a slow-cook oven, although your basis for comparison in that regard is a shade more limited. Still, there is little in the way of sand past the entrance and you feel the tradeoff is kinder than not.  
You don't spend a lot of time on the level path before it begins to descend. There are no stalactites or anything you would expect from your experience of caves in the past. It occurs to you that there is likely not enough moisture to create them. You wonder then how these tunnels came to be in the first place-- could some great creature possibly have burrowed through all this rock? Without sufficient water to carry away the sediment, how could these caves have formed naturally? You decide to ask any salamanders you manage to rescue, although you're not hopeful of a good answer. They don't seem to be heavy on the schooling, at least not in the geology department. You suppose priorities are likely to be different for a race living (literally) underground trying desperately to survive against a martially superior, aggressive race working to eradicate their entire culture entirely.

As you descend into the darkness, you feel the air growing steadily hotter and hotter. It's oppressive; you take out a bottle of water and drain it in under ten seconds. You have to resist the urge not to empty another over your head. At this point you can't really afford to frivolously waste the stuff-- the salamanders couldn't replenish your dwindling stocks, considering they lacked a nearby water source, and draw their moisture from their food anyway, as far as you can tell. You wonder how Celeste's getting on in that regard in her weatherless sky land. You hope better than you, and remind yourself again that after this you'll be out of this land and somewhere a little more hospitable. And with friends.

The tunnel is completely dark now, but you daren't use the eternal firepot the Grandparents gave you, lest you give your position away to any Djinn patrolling the cavern. You're hoping that the fire in their eyes will give away their positions, but you don't know for sure. You tread as softly as you can, feeling out every step on the ground as it descends before you, checking for any pebbles or loose ground that could tumble and give away your position. It's slow going. Painstaking even, and the heat and your fear are not helping matters. You need a towel. As best you can tell, you only barely have enough room to swing your mace in this tunnel. Getting into a serious ruck is the last thing you want to do.

Several times you hear noises that you swear are coming from above you. Did the guard Djinn recover? Is it pursuing you now, as a snake or a spider or something equally inconspicuous and stealthy, in order to exact its revenge? You ought to have gone back down and finished it off. Idiot. You're not exactly showering yourself in glory with your slew of bad decisions so far. Fingers crossed you can turn it around. If you don't get bitten and succumb to an agonising death by venom in the meantime that is.

Luckily, despite a few moments of strangled yelps as your trouser leg or shoe brushes against a particularly sharp jutting out piece of rock you mistake for a bared set of jaws, you manage to keep your shit together long enough to come across the sound of work going on. In fact, it sounds like a low-tech mining operation is going on. There is light up ahead as well, and the heat is growing steadily more intense as well. You're grateful for the extra light to see your way by, even if at this point it's only showing the outlines of the walls before you. You redouble your efforts at stealth-- your ensemble is hardly camouflaged, and if there's a full-blown mine down here, there could be any number of Djinn guards. Provoking them would end your adventure pretty damn quickly.

The light is getting stronger the further you go. The heat more stultifying as well. You can see the opening of the tunnel up ahead-- it looks like it drops away rather steeply. You throw a last cautious look over your shoulder, before dropping to your elbows and knees and shuffling forward, hoping to spy over the edge.  
Unfortunately, you were right on the money. It is a mining operation. The salamanders are tied together in some sort of chain gang, scrabbling at the rock with their bare forelegs, painfully eking out turquoise and loading it into the mine carts. Four salamanders are harnessed to each mine cart, and they pull the loaded carts up towards what you can only assume are the lower levels of the Djinn fortress. There are at least three Djinn that you can see, not counting any that may be hidden, or hiding in plain sight. These three, at least, are tall, ogrish beings, paunchy but muscular, long shocks of hair in bold, loud colours snaking down from their heads, down their naked backs. In their faces their eyes lazily smoulder, talking amongst themselves. They appear to be the foremen-- forebeings?-- of the whole gig, idly kicking at the mule salamanders as they crawl past tugging their enormous loads, but otherwise completely uninterested in the work. The mine shaft extends a long way down below, and you can see, at the very bottom, a shifting lake of bubbling magma, which serves well enough to illuminate most of the cave, besides the couple of small torches either side of the cart tunnel.  
It really is a pity you're on the opposite side to the labouring salamanders. How the bloody hell are you going to cross that chasm? Even with the other side being about fifteen feet lower, you've still got a twenty foot gap to cross, which you hardly think you can do by jumping power alone. You really could do with Trappsen's Needlewands. Not that you'd admit that.

You settle instead for hunkering down and observing the Djinn and their slaves. Maybe, if you study their routine, you'll be able to compose a strategy for freeing the consorts when you figure out a way of bridging the chasm.  
You count about thirty salamanders all told, most working to extract the turquoise, with two sets of four chained to the carts, which trundled back and forth slowly. From the time it took for a cart to return after its departure, it seems like the mine is quite a way from the warehouse, or wherever the end of the supply line is. You're hoping that means this place is isolated. It certainly seems like the salamanders at least, sleep here, from the scant and shabby nests you can just about make out at the far end of the cave. You can't really imagine it being terribly close to the rest of the fortress, what with the magma, and the terrible din of the mining and the rolling carts. So, three Djinn to contend with. Or fewer, if they leave after the shift is up. They probably wouldn't leave the salamanders entirely unguarded. Well, you can always hope.

One upside of discovering the poor salamanders like this is that it's far too loud and active for you to be discovered unless you do something really loud. You unfurl your Scrollbook and mute it.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

AN: Hey.  
AN: Just to Update:  
AN: I've Located my wayward Consorts.  
AN: They're slaves in a Gem Mine. Supervised by a small number of Djinn.  
AN: I'm in the Process of Scoping Out their Operation.  
AN: Not Positive I can take three of them at Once.  
AN: Much less any others Hiding in the Woodwork.  
AN: But I'm sure they'll Slack Off soon.  
AN: I Suppose you're busy.

 

Unfortunately, you cannot access your server program from the Scrollbook, otherwise you could probably be doing more to help Celeste out. You put it on the ever-increasing list of things you need to do. When all is said and done, this Game is turning out to be the hardest work you've ever engaged in. And what you've seen of the benefits package is hardly compensation. You'd be of a mind to send a strongly worded letter to your union, if you had one.


	19. Oh god how can Shapeshifters be so Mutable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ali continues his highly dangerous mission to liberate his salamander consorts from the gem mines of the merciless Djinn, in the Land of Dusk and Wishes.

As you lie on your belly, observing the workers as they toil on, you also make a closer examination of the perimeters of the cave, and it appears that, if you managed to safely drop about eight feet, there is a narrow lip which goes most of the way round the cave. You could likely make it over there, as long as you kept your balance. Difficult, but you've always prided yourself on being level-footed. If not actually graceful. You don't want to start until things start to wind down mining though. They will wind down. At some point they have to.

The more time passes, the antsier you get. If you didn't actually slay that rather dimwitted Djinn outside, it might well have managed to struggle back to its colleagues by now. The longer you leave it, the more likely it will be that a war party of Djinn will stampede down the tunnel, and boot your entirely deserving rear into the magma.  
Luckily, your hunch was correct, and as you watch, the Djinn brandish their whips-- they don't actually need to use them, the salamanders are sufficiently cowed-- and begin to herd the miners into their enclosures. The salamanders don't seem relieved that their work is over for the day, just tired. Poor bastards. You hope you can come up with a plan to actually get them out of here.  
Another, new Djinn, this one in the form of a slender, almost snake-like humanoid, arrives with the last empty cart and its crew. There is a brief, bored conversation, the content of which you can't quite make out, even with the relative quiet now the mining has ceased, and the three ogreish Djinn stump off along the shaft, leaving the snake-man to herd the last few salamanders into their cages with kicks and hisses. It rips the top off a barrel with its long, lean fingers, and carries it over to the ditches dug in front of the cages, carelessly spilling fodder into and around them, as the salamanders watch. Whether they're too tired to spring for the food after such back-breaking work, or whether they're just wary of appearing too keen or greedy in case it earns them some cruel rebuke, none of them make any sort of move for the ditches until the Djinn has replaced the barrel and made itself comfortable on an overturned mine cart. It appears that it's there for supervisory duties, nothing more. Great. Just the break you've been waiting for. You wiggle some life back into your stiff legs, and slowly draw yourself up-- the Djinn's back is turned to you, but you wouldn't put it past it to have some sort of super-sensitive tongue that could detect movement from as far away as this.

You try your best to psych yourself up for this. You don't really have a plan, besides get across, take the Djinn down and free the consorts, but you tell yourself that doesn't really matter. None of the best people ever had plans. The Doctor. Jack Sparrow. Buffy. They all made it up as they went along. You're smart enough, you can do the same.  
You cling to the wall, and slither down to the slender ledge. Far, far below, the magma pool undulates and bubbles. You try not to think about it, although in the back of your mind, you wonder precisely how long it would take for your nervous system to shut down from the shock of hitting molten rock at that speed. You hope not very long at all.  
The heat is almost dizzying. Almost. Your heart is beating too fast in your chest to allow you the luxury of light-headedness. No, you are very definitely aware of your situation, the tenuous grip you have on the rock face and the way your shoes press up against it almost, but not quite, safely upon the ledge. The feel of the air on your brow, on your neck, as you sweat, buffeted by the sauna of hot air streaming up from below. You pray it doesn't trickle down your arms, inhibit your slim hold on the wall as you sidle along, trying to remain as quiet as you can to avoid alerting the Djinn who, as far as you are aware, was lounging on the overturned mine cart being disgusted by the the timid salamanders feeding themselves.  
You have time, as you edge around, drawing closer to the mining area, to consider how exactly you're going to deal with this one. It will be quick, you imagine. If you can get the jump on it, best to go in hard and fast. But quiet. Take it down, don't stop until it's a greasy smear on the rocks. You're not sure Djinn turn into Grist like the Dark Kingdom creatures. Mother didn't, and she was a creation of the same being that created the Djinn. So, you imagine, it's going to be gruesome. Ordinarily, you might have a problem with that, but you've been having a sufficiently shitty time of it that you want to take it out on someone else, and having watched these poor salamanders be subjugated, brutalised and demeaned by this creature and its cohorts for what can only be hours, you've made up your mind. You're going to decorate the walls with this slithery fuckstick.  
The brief glances you dare to shoot over your shoulder at the mines you're drawing up to confirm that the salamanders, for right or wrong, aren't reacting to the sudden appearance of a weird, skinny-looking Djinn inching along a cave wall instead of just flying over or whatever the fuck a Djinn would typically do in this sort of situation. You hope it's because they haven't noticed, or that they're biding their time, rather than their complete indifference to any sort of rescue attempt. Last thing you need is for the pitiful little buggers to turn around and tell you they can't summon the enthusiasm to leave. How are you going to explain that to the salamanders on the outside? 'Oh hey turns out they were fine where they were can I go now plz'. Yeah, they'll believe that in a heartbeat.

With a silent sigh of relief, you step up onto the actual cliffside, casting one last look back down at the magma pit at the bottom. You think you can probably clamber along and back up, should it come to it, although privately you're hoping the salamanders will know another way out. They've been here for long enough, they must know their way around, surely...  
The mine faces the salamanders were working on half an hour ago are hiding you from the peripheral vision of the Djinn, whom you last saw tossing a stray turquoise chunk around in its taloned hands with a lazy disregard. You edge around the jutting section of the mine face, and peer at the salamanders and their guard. The Djinn is still now. You think it might be sleeping. That would be a lucky break if ever there was one. The salamanders are mostly asleep as well, though a few are still scrabbling over the remnants of their food. Still none of them have shown any sign of noticing you. You creep forwards, skirting as close as you dare to the precipice overlooking the magma far below, until you are behind the Djinn and ready to strike.  
Your Silverstar Companion drops into your hands, and you flex your fingers around its shaft experimentally. The weight of it feels good. If you're honest with yourself, you're not quite strong enough to wield it efficiently-- the head of the mace, spikes and all, must weigh at least fifteen pounds, and the LARP maces you used before weren't even half that. Still, there's something about swinging a giant chunk of spiky metal that's terribly reassuring. Even if you're a little ponderous with it.

You fix your stance, and begin to advance. You're treading lightly, still aiming to catch your foe by surprise, winding up for a bone-crushing overhead swing to like as not pin it to the cart it's lying on. You are too focused to notice the coy flicker in its whip of a tail as you approach, nor the shifting of wiry muscles under its scaly hide as you pick up your pace. By the time you're swinging your weapon you have just about enough space to notice you're going to miss, and not through any fault of your own. Damn, that thing is fast!  
The mace crashes into the-- now vacated-- mine cart, warping and puncturing the metal with the force of the strike. The Djinn sprang off it at the last second, landing deftly between you and the cages.

Foelog:

DJINN: Sssso, thought you'd get the jump on me, did you?  
ALI: Kind of. Yeah.  
DJINN: "Kind of, yeah?" Who are you, anyway?  
ALI: I'm the Page.  
DJINN: The what?  
ALI: The, uh, the Page?  
DJINN: Of what?  
ALI: Uh.  
ALI: Y'know, it hasn't Actually come up.  
DJINN: That'sssssssssss funny. Becaussssssssssse I know what'ssssssssssss going down.

It launches itself at you, springing forwards with a frightening speed, propelled by its extraordinarily strong tail. It bares its jaws, and snaps at where your head would have been, had you not managed to duck out of the way in time. You turn, holding the mace up between you.

Foelog:

ALI: Any Chance we can fight somewhere other than Adjacent to a Cliff overlooking a long drop and a plunge into a Lake of Magma?  
DJINN: You ssssshould've thought of that before you ambussssshed me by a cliff overlooking a long drop and a plunge into a lake of magma.  
ALI: I...hm. Your logic is Difficult to Argue with.  
DJINN: Thank you.

It dashes for you again, this time on foot, its tail whipping back and forth behind it. Its posture is bizarre-- it's scything for you like a goddamn barracuda. You try and dodge, but it's got the measure of you, and you're only just able to bring up the mace shaft in time to turn its jaws from clamping around your head. In that moment, with the dazzling fires of its eyes on you, an awful smell, like rotten meat and brimstone, catches in your nose and mists your eyes. The foul thing's breath.

You can't fight it by yourself, you decide. It's far too fast. While it is recovering from the cuff to its jaw (you think you might have dislodged a tooth or two) you turn and make for the cages, smashing out the first lock you find. You round back on the Djinn, now watching you and nursing its jaw, its tail flickering like an irritated cat's.

Consortlog:

ALI: Come on! You're Free now!  
ALI: Your kin sent me to Rescue you!  
ALI: Let's Crush this Loser and get going!  
ALI: ...guys?

Foelog:

DJINN: You're wasssssting your time.  
ALI: What?  
DJINN: They'll not follow you.  
ALI: What have you Done to them?  
DJINN: What, you mean besssssides usssssed them asssss a cheap sssssource of labour by enssssslaving and abusssssing them? Nothing. It jusssssst sssssseemssssss they don't ressssspond well to it. Pity.  
DJINN: For you.  
ALI: I'm leaving, and I'm Taking them With Me.  
ALI: You can Get the Fuck out of my Way, or you Can Make what I Guarantee will be your Very Last and Greatest Mistake.  
ALI: And given the Choices you've made in Life, that is Saying Something.  
ALI: Or should that be 'Sssssaying Ssssssomething?'  
DJINN: Sssssuch overconfidence. It'sssss hilariousssss.  
ALI: No, your Speech Impediment is Hilarious.  
ALI: You're a Fucking Shapeshifter, you couldn't give yourself a proper Tongue?  
ALI: Pathetic.  
DJINN: Fuck you!  
ALI: You'll have to Catch me first.

It lunges towards you again, but this time you're ready. You expel the remains of the Worst Mace in London from your sylladex, sending it spinning through the air at the Djinn. The wiry creature sidesteps the madly veering projectile, which is exactly what you'd been hoping for. In the short time it takes for it to regain its footing and momentum, you turn and scramble for the next cage, swiping off the second lock with a single, precise blow. You allow the swing to carry you round and into a defensive position against the Djinn, now almost on you. It leaps, and you thrust your mace outwards and upwards to catch it in mid-leap. It seems to have anticipated this, and meets it with the boniest sections of its arms and legs, reaching over it with a free arm to rake at your head. It scores deep cuts into your face and tearing your glasses off. The pain blinds you more effectively than the sudden exposure of your myopia, or the blood trickling into your eyes, but it does give you the impetus required to neatly swing the mace, using the momentum of the Djinn slamming into it, and bearing it over. The Djinn, caught off balance, sprawls along the ground. You wipe the blood from your eyes and turn to the salamanders rather than chance tangling with your floored foe.

Consortlog:

ALI: Come on, guys!  
ALI: I can take you to your Families, I just need you to Work With Me here!  
ALI: You'll be Safe, I Promise!

There is a dreadful hissing sound as the Djinn clambers to its feet again, limping slightly having impaled its limbs on your mace, to an extent. Sputtering embers are leaking from the wounds, dancing in the air for a moment then dying before they reach the ground. Any other time it would make for a compelling spectacle. Now it's merely a sign your enemy's not quite dead enough yet.

Foelog:

DJINN: You ssssssssstay away from them!  
ALI: I'm Leaving with Them. They're going back to their Families.  
DJINN: Their familiesssssss? Their familiessssssss are dead. Thessssssse misssssserable ssssspecimenssssss are the onessssss we were merccccciful enough to ssssssspare.  
ALI: You're lying! I have Spoken with them. Shared food and Glad Tidings. You have abused the Blessings of your Lord for too long. Now you will be Held to Account for your crimes.  
DJINN: Crimesssssssss? Thissssssss isssssss our Land, whelp! How dare you pressssssume to--  
ALI: I Dare because I know I'm Right, and you're Wrong. And Somewhere you know it Too. You have Exploited your Brothers and Sisters, the Fellow Creations of your Lord, because you were Greedy and Cruel. Now it's time to pick on Someone your Own Size.  
DJINN: My own sssssssize? We sssssshall sssssssssee about that...

You suddenly have the impression that was a poor choice of words. The Djinn's body ripples and undulates, scaly flesh puckering, shifting and morphing. Where there was nothing, there is now body mass, amorphous and whole, and the trifling wounds you inflicted seal up in the blink of an eye. You have wild thoughts of charging the reforming beast and tearing it chunk by chunk to pieces until it cannot reform, but the probability of being sucked into some terrifying Tetsuo-like endlessly mutating flesh form is rather too close to the front of your mind for such heroics to appeal. You settle for running to the final cage and busting the lock off.

Consortlog:

ALI: Go, now!  
ALI: I'll hold it off. You have to Escape!  
ALI: It's not Safe to stay here! Hurry!

The salamanders blink up at you. You don't even know if they understand you-- if they have forgotten everything but screams and the lash during their servitude. Whether they are beyond saving now.

Well, you tried, at least. Kept your word. That'll count for something, surely. Whatever happens now. You turn back to the Djinn, finishing its transformation. It's not much in terms of imagination. It's more or less just doubled in si-- oh no wait now it has four arms. Fucking fantastic.

Foelog:

DJINN: Big enough for you?  
ALI: Eh.  
ALI: I've Seen Bigger.  
DJINN: But you've not sssssssssssssseen anything quite like me.  
ALI: I'll say. I didn't think you could Morph into something Uglier, but you just keep Pushing that Envelope.

The Djinn screams in fury and charges straight for you. It's still quick; the size of it alone means it covers ground at a frightening rate. But it's definitely slower than before. And heavier on its feet. Less manoeuvrable. Thank heaven for small blessings. You dive and roll to the right, remembering as you do the dozen or so salamanders still cowering in the cage. Shit. You hear the terrible crunch of impact, as the more ungainly Djinn fails to correct its course in time and blunders into the ramshackle construct. Metal twists, squeals and scrapes against rock. You look over your shoulder. There is dust in the air, and the Djinn is extricating itself from the wreckage. There are no sounds of any signs of salamander life in there.  
The next thing you are aware of, you are roaring mindless curses, striking blindly at the huge fiend, tearing flaming swathes from its calves. You can hear its screams as it struggles to free itself, and you only wish you could extract more. Siphon its torment from the fiend's frame in payment for its crimes, the horrors committed by its whole fucking race. Make them feel it. Every lash of the whip. Every moment of humiliation, mourning, despair.

The beast sinks to its knees, but swats you away with a swipe from two of its arms. You spin through the air, blood roaring in your ears, winded and ready to heave. You sprawl, roll, slide to a halt. You don't even have the strength to lift your head, for a moment. By the time you do, the Djinn has already begun reforming. Your head swims. Your legs tremble. But you must do something. You prop yourself up on a single knee.

Consortlog:

ALI: All of you, Listen to me!  
ALI: ...I Know you're Frightened! I'm Frightened too.  
ALI: I've been Frightened ever since I fell into this Land.  
ALI: But you Can't let your Fear keep you in these Cages!  
ALI: I Faced my Fear to save you! You can do the Same!  
ALI: Please! Run while you Can, and I'll keep you Safe!

The remaining salamanders blink at you. Not one of them moves. You drop your head. The swelling of low, demoniacal laughter rings in your ears over the thrumming of your pulse. You can hear it advancing towards you, lumbering step after another.

Foelog:

DJINN: Pathetic.  
DJINN: They know their placcccce. Assss you ssssssshould know yoursssssss.  
DJINN: How many had to die to sssssssssatisfy your ego?  
ALI: You Killed them, you clumsy Fuck!  
DJINN: I was protecting what was mine. You tricked me. I would never kill good sssssslavessssssss.  
ALI: Don't Listen to It! It's trying to Fool you!  
DJINN: No. I am telling them what they know to be true.

You look up at it then. It has morphed into something terrible and altogether unrecognisable. Some lumpen, rock-skinned monstrosity, twisted tusks bursting from every angle of its wide, cavernous mouth. It reaches down and wraps a single, crudely-jointed hand around you, too feeble to even swing your mace in reprisal. It brings you up to its height, where even now, in the deepest lines of the horrible thing's face, you can see the triumphant flickering of its eye-fires. Its hot, foetid breath is blistering the skin on your face, still slick with blood.

Foelog:

DJINN: So you wanted to face your fears.  
DJINN: Face this.

It begins to bear you into the snarled nest of cruel teeth. You wince, not willing to close your eyes but not terribly pleased about the notion of watching as you are shredded to pieces. Suddenly, it stops. You open your eyes wide, and wonder what that sound beneath you is.

The salamanders are attacking! You're not sure how many without your glasses, but they're everywhere, swarming around the Djinn's rocky legs, swiping away at them with silent determination. Every so often, a large chunk of rock-flesh comes away from its frame, and the salamanders fling it away, bouncing and rolling over the edge of the chasm, into the magma pit far below. It lashes out with its stubby legs, kicking free, spilling embers onto the ground everywhere, but the salamanders cling tight, or duck out of the sluggish body's movements.

Foelog:

DJINN: What are you doing! Stop!  
DJINN: I order you to stop!  
ALI: My mace might not make much of an Impression on your stone skin...  
ALI: But these Salamanders have done Nothing but Bust Through Rock for years.  
ALI: You can Do It! Keep it up!  
DJINN: Shut up!

Its misshapen fingers tighten around your chest. The pain is unbearable-- you feel your ribs grinding, ready to splinter under the pressure. You can't even find the air to scream, as the heat, pain and lack of air combine to create spots in your swimming vision. You feel yourself shifting, yanked back, your head rolling on your shoulders as it draws its arm back. As it prepares to launch you, though, it howls. A dreadful, unearthly sound, like a million nails being drawn over blackboards, and you feel yourself dropping.

You feel as if you blacked out for a moment, because when you open your eyes, there is a ringing pain in the back of your head, and the Djinn's grip has slackened. Actually, looking at the Djinn properly, with your vision (such as it is) returning, you see it's attempting to reform. There's not much of it left, though. The salamanders saw to that. You're not sure how far they got with tearing the thing apart, but considering it was unbalanced enough simply to topple over, you'd guess a fair amount. They've withdrawn to a safe distance, watching as the remains of the rock-beast twist and collapse in on themselves. It begins to shrink, then stretch out. You can see it taking proper shape-- a slender, fiery bat. Before the salamanders can fall upon it, it launches itself into the air, and flaps for its life, flying for the tunnel to the Djinn palace. It squeaks its impotent spite at you even as it flees, although you can't find its threats terribly foreboding given the silliness of being reprimanded by such a shrill voice.

Foelog:

DJINN: Don't think this is over!  
DJINN: Run if you can, there is nowhere we won't find you! You will suffer for your futile defiance, all of you!

Any more words it offers are lost in the tunnel, as its high-pitched voice fades into indistinct echoes.

The salamanders, now the immediate threat has passed, appear to be watching you expectantly. You sit up, rubbing the muck, blood and sweat from your face with a sleeve, and look back, such as you can.

Consortlog:

ALI: We really Need to get Out of Here.  
ALI: Did Anyone locate my Glasses, perchance?

There is no response. You carefully get to your feet, and dust yourself off. The cave is just the wrong side of dim for them to be difficult to spot with impaired vision, and it takes a couple of increasingly frantic minutes of searching for you to locate them; a little bent out of shape, a little dusty, but wearable. The salamanders you set to digging out the remains of the collapsed cage and rockfall have managed to pull out a handful of their injured kinfolk, who lie on the rock floor, groaning and writhing from the pain of their injuries. The older ones of the group, less suited for the work of excavating, are doing their best to soothe them, although privately you think that most of the survivors are unlikely to last the journey back to the subterranean village you set out from-- particularly as your trip back will be slowed by their incapacitation. You recall the words of the Grandparents. You may have failed to create a suitably epic distraction to impede the Djinn in pursuing you, but you can at least make the going a little slower for them. You begin to transfer the mining rubble to the tunnel, as quickly as you are able, blocking up the passageway. You are wringing with sweat by now, but you cannot take the chance of the Djinn following you out. More salamanders notice your efforts, and assist you. Between you and the diminutive amphibians, the passage is soon fairly well blocked up. Their compatriots digging through the cage appear to have completed their task as well. They pad out, standing over the wounded, looking to you once more.

Consortlog:

ALI: OK. I haven't Thanked you yet for Intervening in that fight and Undoubtedly Saving my Life.  
ALI: So, thanks.  
ALI: I know this Might all seem a little Spontaneous and Ill-Advised, but you have to Trust me.  
ALI: Your Kin have put their Faith in me. I'm Sure they'd want you to do the Same.  
ALI: We have to Leave now. The same way I Entered.  
ALI: It's going to be Difficult with our Wounded, but we'll be able to Work Something Out, I'm Confident.  
ALI: Is everyone Ready?

You don't hear any objections, so you head for the lip you used to edge round to the mining area, to climb back up and get out of here. You really wish you had some of that Vitality Gel right about now. Negotiating the slender rock ledge, navigating the tunnel and then shimmying down the mountainside while trying to avoid the legions of Djinn doubtlessly coming after you is hardly what you'd hoped for after such a gruelling fight, but you don't really have any options. You can't hole up here. Time to move out.


	20. Make Her Pay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Tina reaches the High Chancellor's residence, her injured companion Chikster still clinging to life.

You are now the storyteller.

Chikster is still hanging in there, drawing slow, agonising breath after breath. The ride up to the summit has been nothing short of torture-- holding your consort-grown-friend in your arms, willing the painfully slow cabin to go quicker. Even now, carrying her along the frosty path, the urge to run is difficult to fight, although you know that the shock to her system could very well finish her off if you did. So you walk, and carry her as delicately, as reverently, as a newborn.

The path, which overlooks the edge and curls around a steep crater, leads to a chalet. Well, a cabin, at the very least. It's rustic in appearance, but you can tell effort has gone into making it look distinguished. Certainly when everyone else is living in caves it has a certain social cachet. You hope the High Chancellor is actually there.

You step onto the verandah, and shift Chikster in your arms slightly so you can knock on the door, emblazoned with a peculiar sigil that seems vaguely familiar for some reason you can't quite touch upon.  
The door is answered by a (relatively) tall gecko with a stern disposition. If it is surprised by the presence of a human on top of the remote clifftop, carrying a severely injured gecko, it doesn't show it. It merely cocks its head in a sort of lazily cordial manner, and speaks.

Consortlog:  
GECKO: May I help you?  
TINA: My Friend Is The One That Needs Help. Please, Can You Do Something For Her?  
GECKO: May I ask what happened?  
TINA: She Was Trying To Protect Me And She Got Badly Hurt. Can We Come In?  
GECKO: This is highly irregular. I shall go and alert the Chancellor. In the meantime you may convey your friend to the chaise in the hall.  
TINA: Please Hurry!

The gecko butler, if that is what it is, drops to its forelegs and scuttles away into the cabin. You step over the threshold into the front hall and ease Chikster onto the chaise. Inside, the cabin is adequately furnished, you note with a quick gaze around. In many ways it reminds you of your home, and you feel a pang of grief in your chest for what you have lost-- your home, that you've known and loved for twenty years will never again be lived in like this. You shake the selfish thought from your mind though, and concentrate on the present and far more pressing concern of your only friend in this Land and her continued battle to remain a part of it.

Her clammy skin feels warmer to your touch than it did before. You wish you knew whether that was a good or a bad sign. Maybe it's not a sign at all, just the effect of proximity to a warm-blooded being. You try to soothe her as she trembles, her mouth opening and closing in small increments, as if trying to gulp down more air through her ruined throat.

You hear bustling from further within the house. The butler emerges from round a corner, and in his wake, on her hindlegs, comes a larger and more impressive gecko, her scales iridescent and gleaming in the light streaming in through the high, long windows of the chalet. Though, like the others, she wears no garments, her status is plainly displayed by the chain of office she wears about her neck. She turns and fixes you with the stare of one accustomed to others dropping their gaze, but something in you rebels at the thought of demurring to a creature half your size, and you instead hold it steady, hands still flitting over your injured companion.

Consortlog:

CHANCELLOR: And who, might I ask, are you?  
TINA: My Name's Tina. Is There Anything You Can Do To Help My Friend? She's Hardly Breathing.  
CHANCELLOR: What are you doing here? How did you get here?  
TINA: With All Due Respect, Your Excellency, Is That Really Important Right Now?  
TINA: One Of Your People Is Dying Here!

She glowers at you: or rather, her large, black eyes fix on you piercingly, and the curve of her mouth takes a definite downward turn. But it seems deployment of the honorific had some positive effect; she does consent to approach, and from a distance of five feet regards Chikster, still drawing her feeble, wheezing breaths. The butler stands by, keenly noting the tension between you and the Chancellor.

Consortlog:

CHANCELLOR: What happened to her?  
TINA: A Pair Of Ogres Were Attempting To Destroy Your Cable Car System. She Tried To Stop Them.  
CHANCELLOR: What?  
TINA: They Were In The Process Of Demolishing The Cable Car Station.  
CHANCELLOR: You saw this, did you?  
TINA: I Helped.  
TINA: When They Grabbed Her And Tried To Kill Her, I Intervened.  
TINA: I Slew Them. Both Of Them.  
CHANCELLOR: You lie.  
TINA: I Do Not. I Killed Them Both, And I Brought Her Here.

She looks at you again, in new light. Her eyes scrutinise you ever more closely.

Consortlog:

CHANCELLOR: Tell me who you are.  
TINA: I Already Told--  
CHANCELLOR: Tell me who you really are! What is your purpose here?  
TINA: First, Help My Friend.  
CHANCELLOR: I think you are misapprehending the situation, 'Tina'. I don't have to do anything.  
TINA: If She Dies I'm Not Telling You A Thing.  
CHANCELLOR: But she'll still be dead.

You glare at each other, wills grappling for the high ground. Chikster trembles as she skips a breath, and whines softly. No. You can't use her like this.

Consortlog:

TINA: Have It Your Way.  
TINA: I'm The Hero Of Space.  
TINA: I've Come To Fight The Dark Kingdom. And Anyone Else Who Gets In My Way.  
CHANCELLOR: Thank you.  
CHANCELLOR: I appreciate your candour.  
CHANCELLOR: Click, if you could conduct the young lady to a more suitable room for convalescence...?  
CLICK: Of course, Your Excellency.

The butler-gecko is stronger than he looks, effortlessly hefting Chikster into his stubby arms and carrying her further into the chalet.

Consortlog:

TINA: Please Be Careful With Her!  
CLICK: Of course, ma'am.

He uses the very exact tone of one who is letting you know you're overstepping your bounds in presuming to order him, without being so impertinent as to actually communicate it explicitly. The Chancellor watches you watching him, as he disappears down the same corridor he fetched his mistress from.

Consortlog:

CHANCELLOR: So, Tina, was it?  
CHANCELLOR: Perhaps you would care to come with me and you can explain to me exactly what you mean by all this Hero of Space business.

Without waiting for a response, she waddles down the same corridor. You take one last look around the front room, before falling in line after her. With her awkward upright gait, and shorter legs, she is a much slower walker than you, and you have time to take in the decor as she leads the way.  
The colour scheme appears to be based around purple and gold-- specifically, the purple you found in your dream. Derse. The coincidence is not encouraging. Many of the drapes, hangings and art pieces feature heavily stylised designs. Most prominent are a kind of swirly thing and a familiar heraldry: a crown upon a pentagon featuring four protrusions. You have a very bad feeling about this.

Consortlog:

TINA: Could This Wait, Your Excellency?  
TINA: I'd Really Prefer To Be There For My Friend.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh, you needn't worry. Click is very skilled.  
TINA: I'm Sure, But--  
CHANCELLOR: Ah, here we are. Do have a seat.

She waddles into what looks rather like a large study. Or possibly a small library. The ceiling is much higher in this room, although that isn't saying an awful lot, considering you were almost brushing the ceiling out in the corridor. Ali would probably have to stoop.  
The room features bookshelves all around the perimeter, up to the ceiling, with a couple of sets of stepladders mounted on coasters. You always wanted a room like this. In the centre of the room, a teak coffee table, flanked by a sofa upholstered in chocolate-coloured leather and two armchairs. On the table, a couple of open tomes bound in purple and gold. The Chancellor waddles across and seats herself on one of the armchairs, and you notice although they've been scaled down a little, they're still not quite gecko-sized. Not gecko-made then, clearly. From where, then? The same place as the cable car system, perhaps? She looks up at you expectantly, and you take a seat in the chair opposite, your knees drawn up a little by the low height of the chair. You watch each other, pensive, for a moment, before she reaches across to the coffee table, and takes the purple book, hefting the weighty tome with some difficulty before laying it over her stumpy legs and flicking through it. When she talks, it is without looking up.

Consortlog:

CHANCELLOR: It's not that your presence is unexpected, of course.  
CHANCELLOR: Merely that the manner of your arrival was a little startling.  
CHANCELLOR: Frankly, I'm surprised you managed to befriend one of my people to the extent you're willing to place her welfare above what could very well be the most critical aspect of your mission.  
TINA: Chikster Is A Credit To Your People. She Has Been Exceptionally Kind, Brave And Loyal.  
CHANCELLOR: I'm Sure.  
TINA: ...  
TINA: So...  
CHANCELLOR: How have you found my domain so far? To your liking?  
TINA: Difficult To Navigate, I Must Confess.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh? I am sorry to hear that. The cable car system did not prove helpful?  
TINA: There Were... Complications.  
CHANCELLOR: My condolences.  
TINA: ...So, You Mentioned Something About Explaining Myself.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh, my dear, I was waiting for you to elucidate. I would scarcely have you think this an interrogation, or anything so indecorous.  
TINA: I Understand.  
TINA: I Have Been Defending Myself And This Land From The Assaults Of The Dark Kingdom.  
TINA: As I Said, Their Forces Were Intent On Destroying The Cable Car System Before My Companion And I Intervened.  
CHANCELLOR: That simply isn't possible, my dear.  
TINA: I Hate To Contradict You, Your Excellency, But We Saw What We Saw.  
CHANCELLOR: Are you sure they were minions of the Dark Kingdom?  
TINA: I'd Love To Hear What Else They Could Possibly Have Been.  
CHANCELLOR: The Light Kingdom may well have sent plants to frame the Dark Kingdom.  
TINA: I See.  
TINA: I Don't Think That Was The Case.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh?  
TINA: No. I Think It Was The Dark Kingdom And I Think You Don't Want To Face Up To That For Some Reason.  
CHANCELLOR: Is that so?  
CHANCELLOR: I'm curious as to what that reason might be.  
TINA: Well, At A Guess, And Knowing What I Know--  
TINA: You've Been Accepting Favours And Aid From Both Kingdoms In An Attempt To Play Them Off Against Each Other, Maintain Neutrality In The War While Simultaneously Benefiting From Their Attempts To Buy Your Allegiance.  
TINA: If You're Prepared To Set Aside Your Scruples, Not A Bad Strategem.  
TINA: Although It Fails To Take One Thing Into Account.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh? And that is?  
TINA: Me.  
TINA: Or Rather, All The Heroes.  
TINA: Chikster Was Kind Enough To Enlighten Me On An Old Prophecy, Relating To The Seer And Her Peers.  
TINA: The Coming Of The Seer And Its Kind Shall Herald The End Of Days.  
TINA: In These Times, Dark Will Threaten All, And No Quarter Shall Be Given Nor Asked For By The Children Of Prospit Or Derse.  
TINA: The Deal's Off, Your Excellency. If You Want To Protect Your Land, You've Only Got One Option.  
TINA: Because Derse Won't Stop Until My Friends And I Are Dead.  
TINA: And I Don't Intend On Stopping Breathing Any Time Soon.  
CHANCELLOR: Well.  
CHANCELLOR: That's certainly an interesting theory you've concocted there.  
TINA: Theory?  
CHANCELLOR: Yes, of course. I was quite compelled. You have a talent for narratives-- Tina, was it? Of course, a narrative is all you have.  
TINA: You're Saying I'm Off The Mark Somehow?  
CHANCELLOR: Well, yes. Of course.  
CHANCELLOR: I'm not playing both sides. I've allied myself with Derse.  
CHANCELLOR: I'm not completely ignorant. I'm well versed in the Skaian Prophesies.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh, that's not to say it wasn't a strong intuition on your part. It was certainly the impression Prospit was labouring under until very recently.  
CHANCELLOR: Their agents, of course, will be snooping around this Land, much as they always do, fighting the war on their secret front. I must expect them to have relayed the revelation back to the Queen by now.  
CHANCELLOR: Of course, where Prospit moves, Derse will counter in kind.  
CHANCELLOR: Except, with my resources available to them, the Dersians once more have the upper hand.  
CHANCELLOR: You'll be meeting them shortly.

The bottom falls out of your stomach.

Consortlog:

TINA: Click's Not Looking After Chikster, Is He.  
CHANCELLOR: Oh, I'd imagine she's well taken care of by now.  
CHANCELLOR: He's very skilled. I think I mentioned.  
CHANCELLOR: In fact, he should have had more than enough time to get in touch with our allies.  
CHANCELLOR: ...Oh, really now-- is that the way you want to be?  
CHANCELLOR: Hero you may be, but you can't outfight them. And you certainly won't be able to outrun them. Not with their marvellous flying machine.  
TINA: Do You Have Any Last Requests.  
CHANCELLOR: Well, that all depends on your attachment to your storyteller.  
TINA: You Said Click--  
CHANCELLOR: What I mean and what I say are two very different things, Tina.  
CHANCELLOR: You really haven't spent much time around politicians, have you?  
CHANCELLOR: I'll make this very clear, though. You can believe me that Chikster is alive now, or not. But mark my words: if you harm me in any way, she will most definitely meet her end.  
CHANCELLOR: Stumped again, are we? I've noticed this is a problem with you. You have all these noble notions of what you ought to be doing, but not the conviction to act upon them.  
CHANCELLOR: Some Seer you are. You really ought to learn to anticipate these outcomes if you're going to be any sort of hero worthy of the name.  
CHANCELLOR: Which I suppose you're not, considering that you're going to be dead shortly.  
CHANCELLOR: Still, if your species reincarnates it might be something to bear in mind next time.  
TINA: I'm Sure I'll Get Back To You On That.  
CHANCELLOR: Leaving? You know, I did say you wouldn't be able to outrun them.  
TINA: Yes, But What You Say And What You Mean Are Two Very Different Things.  
CHANCELLOR: ...She can be taught.  
CHANCELLOR: Well, I'd wish you good luck, but I'd be lying.  
CHANCELLOR: Goodbye, Seer. It's been interesting meeting you.  
TINA: Likewise.  
TINA: I Look Forward To Seeing You When You're Not Dangling One Of My Friends' Lives In Front Of Me As A Crude And Callous Method Of Insurance Against Your Immediate Painful Demise.  
CHANCELLOR: I'd be very surprised if that were to happen.  
TINA: Until Then, Goodbye.

You leave at a run, looking for stairs. Whoever these Dark Kingdom agents are, you don't get the impression they'll be arriving by cable car. The Chancellor mentioned something about a flying machine. Either way, you want to be able to see them coming, and the roof is your best bet. With any luck there'll be either a staircase to the roof, or a skylight you can make use of. You round a corridor and discover a patio overlooking the edge of the cliff, a wrought iron spiral staircase in the corner. You quickly scale it and find yourself on the lower section of the roof, climbing up a second set of whitewashed stairs to reach the roof proper. The chalet, particularly its flat, white roof, strikes you as peculiarly Mediterranean in design, considering the altitude and the fact the sky has not shown a single ray of sun in all the time you've been here, but it's possible the Chancellor just appreciated the conceit. She certainly doesn't seem like the sort to allow practicalities to prevent her from getting what she wants. From here you can see not only over the edge of the cliff, but on the other side, the crater. And from your elevated vantage point, you realise something that in hindsight ought to have been obvious.

The cliff, the one your house is nestled on, not to mention all the geckoes-- the whole damn thing is a dormant volcano. The Forge. It's here. And you need to set it off.  
How the fuck are you going to set off a dormant volcano? You don't know how thick the cap of that crater is, it could be metres and metres down.  
You hear a dull buzzing, approaching from your left. It's them. Must be. But what are they in?

You strain to see the source of the noise. It slowly rises over the edge of the cliff, boxy and purple and oddly menacing. It's a hovership of some sort. You can't see through the tinted substance covering the cockpit-- you don't know why you think it's not glass-- but you are fairly sure whoever is in there is looking straight back at you, and a chill runs down your spine. You gather up a corner of your skirt and your Needlewands drop into it. The hovership veers forward, a single black figure dropping out of its back end as it ghosts over the trail leading round the crater, haring for cover. It has wisely dispensed with the trappings of the other Dersians you remember from your dream, its only nod to the odd uniform being the furry monkey pelt it wears around its broad shoulders, doing its own small part to camouflage the agent's glossy black carapace.  
You growl. All you wanted to do was get Chikster seen to. Why does nothing in this Land ever come easy? You summon up a ball of yarn, crackling with etheric energies, and fling it in the agent's path. You're not hoping it will hit him, you're too distant to aim well. But if it starts unfurling then things will be quite a different matter.

The hovership itself rears up in reaction to your shot, although the ball was never in any danger of striking it. Perhaps you've tipped your hand by revealing your ranged abilities. You almost regret your action, until the Dersian agent treads on the yarn trail, and is shot through with all the charge of the ball. It flies backward, rolling and smoking, coming to a halt on the very edge of the crater. It attempts to gather itself, but drops its head and is still. At least there's one concern out of the picture. The hovership is keeping its distance, circling you warily. You follow it, Needlewands poised in front of you in case it tries anything. And then you see it. Far above the centre of the crater, shifting and distorting in that odd, fractal way, a Gate.  
...How the hell are you going to get up there? Does the Game expect you to fly up? Then your eyes fall on the hovership. A thin smile plays across your face. Of course.

You back away from the edge of the roof, giving the pilot wiggle room to land, and drop the wands, leaving them at your feet as you raise your hands in the air. The hovership circles one more time, then comes in for a landing. The pilot's compartment opens out, and from it emerges a tall Dersian, much more slender than the heavyset fellow you neutralised earlier. This is the first time you've seen one properly up close.  
You can clearly see the bizarre, segmented carapace entirely enclosing his flesh-- so much more intricate and refined than the misshapen chunks of chitin protecting the ogres, or the flimsy stuff the imps have. The white, cruel eyes, devoid of pupils or any trace of humanity, regard you with an easy, natural contempt. No, more than contempt. Closer to loathing. He's holding a spear, long, lean, black and tipped with what looks like nothing so much as a keenly cut diamond. He looks pretty dangerous with it, even taking into account the rather silly squid hat adorning his shiny black head, which completely ruins the effect of the malice in his face and the otherwise classy suit he's sporting. Even while you're unarmed, he doesn't let his guard down. You're going to have to try guile on this one.

Foelog:

?: You're the broad who's been giving Madame Chancellor some grief, I take it.  
?: Y'know you mussed up the Heedless Bruiser pretty fierce.  
TINA: He'll Live.  
TINA: I'm Assuming From His Incautious Antics He's A He.  
?: You assume right, Seer.  
TINA: Am I Allowed To Know The Identity Of The Agent Responsible For Capturing Me?  
?: Who said anything about capturing?  
?: I'm the Dapper Delegate. I'll be your executioner this evening.  
DD: Any last requests?  
TINA: Are You Quite Sure Your Queen Wants Me Dead? I'm Not The Only Thorn In Her Side By A Long Chalk.  
DD: Bargaining for your life?  
DD: Heard you Heroes had a little more backbone than that.  
TINA: Well, What Can I Say.  
TINA: I Was Completely Overwhelmed By Your Rapid Response Time And Faultless Strategy.  
TINA: Now I See The Folly Of Opposing Derse And Its Allies. I Will Go Quietly, And Render Whatever Aid I May To Your Royals In Bringing This War To A Quick And Relatively Bloodless End.  
DD: Huh.  
DD: Sorry, toots. This tub doesn't take passengers. Been real nice chatting though.  
DD: Hope the rest of you are half as courteous.  
DD: This won't take a minute.

You were pretty much banking on this. He leaps at you, aiming to pin you to the floor under his diamond-tipped spear. You instead snatch up your Needlewands and jump backwards, off the edge of the roof, at the same time lashing out a couple of densely knitted grappling hooks, which embed themselves in the pilot's compartment of the hovership behind. You throw your feet forward to absorb the impact of the wall, remembering your Duke of Edinburgh trips and time spent abseiling. You hear the sound of roof tiles splitting under the Delegate's attack, and a hissed curse. His head appears over the side of the roof, white gleaming eyes narrowed.

Foelog:

DD: I'll spare you the pain of finding out, sweetheart. You can't outrun me.  
TINA: Didn't Expect To.

You free one of your wands from the hook and fire off another constriction thread. He ducks back into cover.

Foelog:

DD: Alright, I've had enough fucking around.

One of your grappling hooks suddenly goes slack. You plunge your free Needlewand into the wall, just in time for the second rope to get cut. You hang to the protruding Needlewand, and send out another hook which catches on the lip of the lower roof to your left. Yanking out the handhold, you swing across, leaving the Delegate boggling with one leg over the edge, as he prepared to dislodge you from the wall. You retract the grappling rope when you connect with the wall, and clamber over the edge as the Delegate races to block your path at the top of the stairs. He decides not to give you time to cast, and lunges at you, extending the spear to its greatest extent. You only just manage to duck underneath it, and dance past as he attempts to correct his mistake, slashing through the hard chitin of his side. He grunts in dull pain-- these guys must be pretty tough, you realise. Not to worry, you're not anticipating sticking around, anyway. You leap the stairs three at a time, and blast behind you with every trap and confounding technique that comes to mind, reasoning that one of them, surely, will stick long enough for you to hijack the hovership. The scream of mingled surprise, pain and frustration in your wake is all the evidence you currently require that you're covered at least until you get to the ship. You dive into the cockpit, risking a look back at the Delegate, still snared in a cat's cradle and tearing apart a garland of yarn snared about his neck.

The control panel is, predictably, a completely unreadable conglomeration of dials, knobs and lights. You pull a face and start stabbing at likely-looking candidates for cockpit-sealing. You don't quite get windscreen wipers, but there are some distinctly unhealthy noises coming from the rear of the ship that you rather think ought not to be happening. At last, after mashing a keypad next to an especially large and shiny dial, the hatch comes down and seals you inside. Another section of the panel lights up suddenly, and you mash the biggest button in the centre.  
The air conditioning starts up. You slam your balled fists into the rest of it, and the ship thrums into life, just in time for a spearhead to burst through the cockpit screen. You jump, and look up. The Delegate is on the end of it, kneeling against the top of the ship, wrenching it around as if trying to shatter the glass. His face is twisted into a rictus of hatred and determination. You could try and blow out the screen, to knock him out of the way, but that would just leave you horribly exposed. Especially considering you have to actually try and fly this thing, and you haven't found so much as a seatbelt yet. You decide your best chance is just to punch it through the gate and hope that somehow dislodges him. There's a likely looking lever by your left hand, which you yank back.  
The ship surges forward, its nose lifting into the air and throwing the Delegate flat against the cockpit covering. The spear, unfortunately, remains, as does his grip on it, but at least for now he has more pressing things to worry about than breaking through and pinning you to the seat on the end of a five-foot pole.

You're still rocketing off into the great grey yonder. You try and calm down, now that the Delegate has things on his mind other than how best to dispose of you without staining his suit, and survey the cockpit methodically. The lever you pulled appears to control the throttle. There are other, similar levers, although you're loath to pull them willy-nilly in case you throw yourself into some kind of horrible tailspin. You really wish there was some sort of manual in the glove compartment. As far as you can see, there is no glove compartment. And you don't know where the hell else someone would put their hovership manual, especially not a cold-blooded assassin-cum-diplomat. You tentatively ease one of the perpendicular levers right a few degrees, which starts to level out the nose, then starts the front portion of the ship leaning into a right turn. You quickly adjust the parallel lever beneath it, and the ship begins to strafe right. You check on the Delegate; he's starting to get a better hold of the spear, and trying to gain some leverage, some purchase, on the slippery stuff of the cockpit screen. You decide to try and shake him off, and veer into a corkscrew spin. This certainly has the effect of making him more angry, but he's determined not to let go of that spear. From this height, you can hardly blame him. You admittedly don't know much about Dersians, but you're willing to bet they suffer pretty much the same fate as anything else that falls from this height.

Shaking him off seemingly not on the cards for the moment, you instead opt to pass through the gate and hope that will put paid to him, like the Ogre from before. It's a long shot, but you're hardly rolling in time to formulate a better plan, and you might possibly kill two birds with one stone. You yank back on the lower lever, and the stubby nose of the ship starts to tilt right again. You pull back on the throttle as much as you dare without allowing the Delegate more purchase, to give you a tighter turning circle. You see the clifftop come back into view, and punch it, adjusting your altitude as best you can with the throttle. As you race closer, the gate comes into view, lower than you thought it was. Shit. You kill the thrust, as much as you dare, and the ship's nose bobbles forward, making a graceful nose-dive headed directly for the gate. You brace yourself, and cross your fingers.


	21. The Woman Who Wasn't There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Celeste faces off against her first mini-boss.

You are now the privateer again. You've just dealt with another ship packed with Dersite minions. They need to send something stronger than imps, this is getting too easy for you. Even with your consorts leaving you pretty much to your own devices. You guess they're scared of what you might do if they get in the way. You put to the back of your mind the thought that you're a little scared too.  
Oh for fucks sake what is it now???

began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

Hey!  
How r u??  
CB: Fine...  
CB: You???  
Im gr8!!!  
I just killed lyk 5 imps w/ my fryin pan!  
CB: ...  
CB: ...Youre using a frying pan...  
Well yeh!!  
What r u usin???  
CB: A sword...  
Wow awesum!  
CB: Was there something you wanted???  
Uh..  
I just wanted 2 chek how ur doin!!!  
Im kind ov lonley out here!  
CB: OK...  
CB: Well im sorry but im kind of busy here jane...  
Doin wat??  
CB: Trying to get through this game so i can go home -_-  
U wanna go home???  
CB: Dont you???  
U meen the childrens home??  
Nt rly.  
CB: Right...  
CB: I forgot...sorry -_-  
No probz!!  
CB: You should probably be looking for a way to get up to your gate...  
CB: You know you can use your grist to build right???  
Wat do u meen???  
CB: Im assuming you acted as your own server considering you said you didnt have any other players with you before you wound up here...  
CB: So you must be able to build up your own home!!!  
CB: Or uh...  
CB: Wherever it is you started playing the game from...  
I guess Ill try that then!  
Thx Celeste!!  
What r u gonna do now???  
Kick sum more ass?  
CB: Something like that...  
I wish i was as hardcore as u..ur totaly badass!!!  
Lyk u dun even give a shit about the world endin!  
CB: Well i do \\_/#  
Yeh but ur rly strong and it just seems lyk no big thing 2 u!!  
Get me???  
CB: Oh wow look at the time...  
CB: Good luck with the building jane!!!  
Oh u headin off agen?  
CB: Yes i am!!!  
CB: Later!!!  
ttyl!!

cleopatrasBard [CB] ceased pestering

 

Jesus fuck that girl gets on your nerves. Does she have a single fibre of tact in her entire body?

Consortlog:

CELESTE: Captain???  
TATTERFRILL: Yarr, Celeste?  
CELESTE: We ready to set off again???  
TATTERFRILL: Almost. We just need a little longer t'transfer the munitions across. We be runnin' low on cannonballs.  
CELESTE: Is that all???   
CELESTE: Just let me help!!!  
TATTERFRILL: Nay, nay, ye do as ye will. We'll be--  
CELESTE: Be what???

He doesn't respond. He's too busy gawping wide-eyed behind you. Which given how wide his eyes typically are is a feat in itself. You turn.

Hoving out of a bank of mist that seems to have materialised from nowhere is a huge, dilapidated ship. The sails are black and coated with some kind of viscous slime, while the hull is rotting and in places completely missing-- you can see the internal beams stretched across like ribs. There doesn't seem to be anyone aboard, lizard or Dersian. You fight down your initial reaction, which is abject fear, and turn back to Tatterfrill, whose mouth is opening and closing like a goldfish.

Consortlog:

CELESTE: What is that thing???  
TATTERFRILL: G-g-ghost ship...  
CELESTE: Ghost ship???  
CELESTE: Is it dangerous???  
TATTERFRILL: ...  
CELESTE: Captain...  
TATTERFRILL: ...  
CELESTE: Ill go deal with it shall I then???

Yeah, you're not getting anything out of that guy. If he had pants and a fear response similar to humans, he would have filled them by now, you're fairly certain. You gather up a spool of rope and shoulder it. At the rate it's going, you think it's likely to pass your stern shortly. You climb the rear mast, and tie off the rope, before sliding down. Getting a rather severe case of rope burn in the process, but nothing the Vitality Gel you'll doubtless score from whatever you kill on the ship won't fix. You shin up the foremast as quickly as you're able, rope between your teeth, and stand on the crossbar. The ghost ship's figurehead is passing by as you watch, followed by the bow.

Consortlog:

KINKTAIL: Celeste, nay! Don't do it!  
CELESTE: Whats wrong???  
KINKTAIL: They say it's cursed! Ye mustn't go aboard, ye could bring it down on all of us!  
CELESTE: Dont be silly skipper...  
CELESTE: Theres no such thing!!!

You swing.

You're frightened, for a moment as you reach the bottom of your swing, that you're going to slam into the side of the ship like a cartoon character except with more trauma, but you judged it well enough that your momentum carries you up over the deck before you let go, sword in your hand before you land. Your gaze darts around, searching for movement. You're not typically afraid of ghosts, although you believe in them well enough. But the Game is a different kettle of fish entirely, and given even your allies were initially all but fitting you for a hemp necktie you don't want to take chances. Any ghosts that may turn up on this derelict could well be hostile, and you're not really sure how effective your weapons will be against them. You hope they don't like glitter bombs.

Nothing stirs on deck. You lower your guard a little. Only a little. You creep to the edge of the deck and peer through the thick fog. The ship is still drifting through the sky. Well, you say drifting. It's actually a fair sight quicker than the smaller ship you left behind. The concern of how exactly you're going to return crosses your mind. You hope the ship's wheel is still working. You pad up to the stern and take a look. It's as rotten and slimy as the rest of the ship. Might as well give it a spin.

You lay hands on the wheel, but as soon as you do, there is a dreadful roar from the belly of the ship, and a monstrous visage appears before you, coalescing out of the mist. Part human, part lizard, with great bulbous eyes glowing an unearthly, noxious yellow-green, it is, to say the least, a startling sight. You are determined to give no ground though.

Foelog:

GHOST: WHO DARES BOARD THE FLYING DUTCHMAN?  
CELESTE: I!!!  
CELESTE: Celeste barton...the maid of void!!!  
GHOST: A FOOL'S ERROR, YOUNG MAID. AND THE LAST ONE YOU SHALL MAKE!  
CELESTE: Do you guard this ship???  
GHOST: FOR UNTOLD AGES HAVE I BEEN BOUND TO THIS SHIP. ALL WHO BOARD ARE DOOMED TO REMAIN TILL DEATH.  
CELESTE: Your doom doesnt scare me...  
CELESTE: My entire planet was doomed but here i am!!!  
GHOST: YES. YOUR WORLD IS KNOWN TO ME, 'HERO'.  
GHOST: COUNTLESS MILLIONS OF SOULS DIED SO YOU COULD PLAY A GAME FOR CHILDREN.  
GHOST: HOW NOBLE.  
GHOST: AND I NOTE ONCE YOU REALISED THE MAGNITUDE OF YOUR MISDEED YOU COMPELLED OTHERS TO RESCUE YOU FROM YOUR FATE.  
GHOST: THE CITY OF ANGELS AND THE SEAT OF YOUR NATION MIGHT HAVE BEEN SPARED WERE IT NOT FOR YOUR COWARDICE.  
CELESTE: Thats not true!!! \\_/  
CELESTE: Everything was happening so fast...we didn't know what else to do!!!  
CELESTE: We couldnt just sit and wait for everything to die around us!!!  
CELESTE: We can fix it!!!  
GHOST: NO. YOU CAN'T.   
GHOST: BECAUSE NOW YOU WILL DIE.  
GHOST: BECAUSE OF YOUR HUBRIS.  
CELESTE: I will do nothing of the sort!!!  
GHOST: IS THAT A FACT.

Its eyes flash, and everything goes black. Are you blind? No-- not quite. But neither are you on the ghost ship any more. You can see walls. Shapes that look like they might be people. Huddled together, lit by feeble light from phone screens, mp3 players. No natural light. No electric lights. There's sobbing.

Foelog:

?: Please, put it down!  
?2: I have to try! She might still be alive!  
?3: Son, they probably lost the network there hours ago.  
?: Come here, Daryl. We don't know how much time we have left.  
DARYL: I'm not going to give up on her!  
?3: Daryl, she must have been one of the first to go. You should be happy for her. Stop torturing yourself.  
DARYL: I SAID I'm not FUCKING giving up!  
CELESTE: Daryl...  
DARYL: Celeste?  
CELESTE: Is that you???  
DARYL: How are y-- I can't see you. Where are you?  
CELESTE: Im...i dont know...  
CELESTE: Whats going on???  
CELESTE: Where is this???  
?: Daryl, who is that?  
DARYL: It's HER, mum, it's Celeste!  
MUM: Where?  
CELESTE: Daryl???  
DAD: Celeste? Here? How--  
DARYL: Babe, I'm with Mum and Dad. We all heard about Cairo...we thought--  
CELESTE: Ssshhh...im here now...  
DARYL: Where? It's too dark.  
CELESTE: Im right here!!!  
DARYL: Babe?

You're standing right in front of him now, but he's still looking straight through you. Are you invisible or something? You reach out a hand to touch him, and your fingers only have the barest chance to brush against his shoulder before he falls back against the wall like you punched him with all your might.

DARYL: Jesus FUCK what WAS that?  
MUM: Daryl?  
DAD: What happened?  
DARYL: Celeste?  
DARYL: Dont come any closer!!!

His teeth are audibly chattering. You can see his breath coming out in frigid puffs of condensation. Frightened, you reach for him again. This time, your hand passes straight through him, straight through his shoulder. He howls in pain, slumping away from you, spasming as his parents rush to him, calling his name. You scream his name too, but as you do the scene fades before your eyes, and you are once more standing on the stern of the ghost ship, facing the grotesque green-eyed lizard-man thing.

Foelog:

CELESTE: What...  
CELESTE: What the fuck was that???  
GHOST: HAVE YOU FORGOTTEN SO READILY, MAID?  
GHOST: THAT WAS YOUR BETROTHED.  
GHOST: AND THE PARENTS-IN-LAW YOU WILL NEVER HAVE.  
GHOST: BECAUSE YOU KILLED THEM.  
GHOST: AND ALL THE OTHER SEVEN BILLION OF YOUR KIND.  
CELESTE: What did you do to daryl and his parents???  
GHOST: I SHOWED THEM HOW YOU REALLY ARE.  
GHOST: YOU COULD HAVE SPOKEN WORDS OF COMFORT TO THEM, BUT YOU FILLED THEIR LAST MOMENTS OF LIFE WITH PAIN AND TERROR.  
GHOST: WELL-- MORE PAIN AND TERROR THAN YOU HAD ALREADY INFLICTED.  
CELESTE: Shut up!!! Why are you doing this???  
GHOST: WHY?  
GHOST: YOU DARE TO ASK WHY I PUNISH ONE OF THE FOUR MOST HEINOUS MURDERERS IN THE HISTORY OF YOUR RACE?  
GHOST: DO YOU BELIEVE YOURSELF BEYOND REPROACH FOR YOUR MISDEEDS?  
GHOST: HAVE YOU GROWN SO ARROGANT?  
CELESTE: No!!! I didnt mean for this all to happen!!!  
CELESTE: Noone told me it would be like this...  
CELESTE: I thought it was just a game...  
GHOST: WHAT YOU THOUGHT THEN IS IRRELEVANT NOW.  
GHOST: YOU CARRY THE RESPONSIBILITY FOR THE DEATH OF YOUR RACE UPON YOUR SHOULDER.  
GHOST: AND IF YOU CANNOT UNDERSTAND THE GRAVITY OF THAT, THEN YOU WILL BE SHOWN.  
GHOST: AGAIN. AND AGAIN, UNTIL YOU COMPREHEND YOUR CRIME FULLY.  
CELESTE: No...please...no more...  
GHOST: SILENCE!

Its eyes flash furiously once more, and you are plunged into dark. And then, half-dark. There is screaming, and the raging sounds of revving engines and car horns. You are standing in the middle of a gridlocked street. You know this place. You have stood here before. This is Bangkok.  
You turn your eyes skyward. Searing the sky, plummeting to earth, is the meteorite. Blocking out the sun.

Two people emerge from the back seat of the car you are standing in front of. You have met them only once before, but you could never forget them. For one, they were so kind and hospitable it felt like they had known you forever, and two, they sound exactly like Tina.

Foelog:

LARA: Thank You, Peng. I Think We'll Walk From Here. You Should Do The Same.  
JORDAN: Don't Worry About The Car. Go And Be With Your Family.  
LARA: Darling, Have You Got Through To Indigo's University Yet?  
JORDAN: It's Still Too Early For Her, I Think. I'll Keep Trying.  
LARA: I Can't Stand It! How Will She Cope After-- She Doesn't Even Know The UK That Well...  
JORDAN: Neither Did Valentina. She Managed.  
LARA: She Still Had Her Parents!  
CELESTE: Excuse me...  
JORDAN: Who Was That?  
CELESTE: You might not remember me...im a friend of tinas...celeste...  
LARA: Celeste? Where Are You? What Are You Doing Here?  
JORDAN: You Didn't Choose The Best Time To Make A Return Visit, I'm Sorry To Say.  
CELESTE: Im not really here...but i want you to know something while i am...  
LARA: What Do You Mean?  
CELESTE: Its hard to explain and i dont have much time!!!  
CELESTE: Im like a future ghost or something o_O   
CELESTE: I came because i want you to know tina is going to be ok!!!  
LARA: She Is?  
JORDAN: How Do You Know?  
CELESTE: Future ghost remember???  
CELESTE: Shes safe with me and ali and wh-- and jake...  
CELESTE: And were working on a way to make this right!!!  
JORDAN: Right?  
CELESTE: I cant really get into it...  
CELESTE: But were going to try and save everyone!!!  
CELESTE: There has to be a way!!!  
JORDAN: This Sounds Completely Crazy.  
CELESTE: I know how this all must sound to you...  
CELESTE: But you have to trust me!!!  
LARA: ...Are You With Valentina Now?  
CELESTE: Not right now no...sorry...  
LARA: Can You Give Her A Message From Us?  
CELESTE: Of course!!!  
LARA: Bless You. Please Tell Her--

Before she can begin, though, the sky goes dark again. You scream, and fling your hands out to try and hold onto the moment, but it is no use. When next you can see, you are staring into the impassive green eyes of the uncanny spectre again.

Foelog:

CELESTE: What are you doing!!!  
CELESTE: I was helping them!!!  
GHOST: SO YOU THINK YOUR MISSION IS TO SALVE THE PAIN YOU HAVE CAUSED?  
GHOST: WRONG, MAID.  
GHOST: YOURS IS TO SUFFER AS YOU HAVE MADE OTHERS SUFFER.  
GHOST: UNTIL PERHAPS YOU HAVE MADE SOME SMALL GESTURE TOWARDS BALANCING THE SCALES.  
CELESTE: Stop!!! Please just stop!!!  
CELESTE: Im sorry!!! Im sorry!!! Just stop doing this!!!  
GHOST: SO CONTRITE ALREADY? YOU DON'T EVEN UNDERSTAND THE SLIGHTEST PART OF WHAT YOU'VE DONE. THERE IS MUCH MORE TO SEE.  
CELESTE: No!!! No more!!! Stop this now!!!  
GHOST: DO NOT PRESUME TO COMMAND ME, MAID.  
CELESTE: Fuck you!!!

This time you don't even scream when you are transplanted into another location. You're just that glad to get away from the ghost. This place, too, is dark. You think from the feel of the floor that you're underground, in a basement of some kind. The air is hot and dry, and very familiar. You sniff, and call out into the murk.

CELESTE: Um...  
CELESTE: Hellooo???

There are several yelps of fear; high, childish.

CELESTE: Im not going to hurt you...  
CELESTE: Im a friend!!!  
?: Mrs. Barton?  
?: Is that you?  
?2: Mrs. Barton?  
?2: What is happening?  
?3: We don't like it...

Oh. Oh you cruel fuck. Not the students. How could you. How. Could. You.


	22. On Bloodied Sand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ali endeavours to return the liberated salamander slaves to their kin, and comes across some unpleasant sorts with other ideas.

You are, once more, the weary Page.  
You walk, as you have walked the mile before that. And the ones before that. And before that, you fought.  
Well, you say 'you'. Mainly you were too exhausted and ragged from the fight with the Djinn in the mine to be anything other than minimally effectual. Still, you bonked an imp on the head as it was trying to abscond, so you feel pretty peachy about yourself.

In fairness, after harvesting the bountiful Vitality Gel from the dead imps, you do feel a lot better. Relatively. You're still not in any shape to do backflips, but you can at least defend yourself now.  
The salamanders don't appear to be able to derive any use from the Vitality Gel. That's a pity, but you suppose it makes a kind of sense, if both the Gel and your consorts are elements of the Game. You're not really in the frame of mind for metaphysical musings on the precise nature of interaction between the many and varied components of the Game's system. Not least because the salamanders are in an even less talkative mood than you. All things considered you can hardly blame them; you don't think you'd be particularly interested in conversation after enduring cruel slavery for quite so long. If they speak at all, it is between themselves in low, dull voices: worn down like desert rocks no doubt, by the whip and the fist.

For the most part, then, the journey is silent. You don't like it. It only gives you time to dwell on the botch-job you made of liberating your consorts. On the likelihood of your being tracked and hunted down by the vengeful Djinn. Your ears are trained on an noise than isn't the padding of feet on sand or the low mutters of your companions. So it is that when you hear the deep, thick sound of wings beating you are electrified into action, suddenly staring all around into the sky for the noise's source. It does not take long before you lay eyes upon them, four gargoyle-like Djinn diving out of the sky. You see their eyes brimming with infernal rage, and as your eyes meet theirs, they fill the desert air with hideous screeches that plunge your heart into ice water.  
Still, you have not come so far to lose everything now.  
"Burrow!" you cry, and even through the shrill cries of the gargoyles, your voice carries. The salamanders, previously transfixed by the howls of their former captors, start scrabbling at the sand and quickly begin to disappear into it-- the infirm and injured carried by two or more of their peers. The screeches of the Djinn redouble as they spy their quarry escaping, and as they impact the sand two morph into long, lithe cobras and burrow into the dunes after them. The other two remain, folding their wings and drawing themselves up to their full, imposing height.

Foelog:

DJINN #1: Page.   
ALI: Is there a Problem, Djinn?   
DJINN #2: These slaves don't belong to you, Page. You're stealing, Page. Bad, rude, wicked Page.   
ALI: Stealing would Imply I'm taking Property. These Salamanders don't Belong to Anyone. We're just going for a Walk.   
DJINN #1: We're not here to fight. Call them back.   
ALI: Maybe you Misheard me with those Misshapen stone lumps you call ears. They don't Belong to me. Or anyone. I can't Order them back.   
DJINN #2: Our brethren will catch them regardless. This way will certainly be less painful though.   
ALI: If you want to take them back, they will Resist. They don't Want to work for you Any More.   
DJINN #1: We'll see how strong their will to resist remains after we've killed a few.   
ALI: I don't think you Understand Salamanders very Well.   
DJINN #2: It is you who doesn't understand, Page! These salamanders are servants to Iblis, just as we are! We have been charged with the duty of doing his bidding, and you will not stop us carrying it out!   
ALI: Iblis? Your Lord?   
DJINN #1: Speak his holy name again, and we will strike that blasphemous tongue out of your mouth.   
ALI: So he's Commanding you to Persecute and Destroy your co-Creations?   
DJINN #1: If they resist his plan, yes.   
ALI: And you believe his Plan for them happens to consist of Forced Labour for Eternity?   
DJINN #2: Our Lord works in mysterious ways.   
ALI: I Don't.

Your Silverstar Companion is in your hands as you charge, and you plant it firmly in the side of the second Djinn's head, sending stone and flame flying in a wide spray across the sand. The Djinn rocks back, half its head missing, already reforming it where its flaming essence has been exposed.

Foelog:

ALI: But I get Results.

The Djinn did not care for that at all. The one with the intact head lets out an ear-splitting shriek, and launches itself at you, unfolding its wings in a formidable pounce. You have time only to flatten yourself against the ground, gasping as the Djinn passes narrowly over your head and lands with a hearty thump a few feet behind you. You scramble to your feet and start to run, clotheslining the morphing Djinn right in its half-formed face with your mace as you do so. The shriek starts up again, and you look back over your shoulder. The other Djinn has taken to the sky again, and is gaining on you.

Foelog:

DJINN #1: You can't escape us, Page!   
ALI: Who said Anything about Escaping?

You reach the top of a small dune and turn. The second Djinn has healed and is running towards you, while the first is coming in for a dive. You launch your recovered Prototype Morningstar at the incoming foe, though it merely glances off an outstretched arm and spins off into the sands somewhere. Bugger. You gather your nerve though, and roll at the last possible moment, hitting sand just a moment before it does, landing face-first and going tail-over-toes very inelegantly. You on the other hand regain your footing rather quicker, and expedite its tumble down the other side of the dune with a few earnest smacks about the hindquarters with your mace. You think these Djinn must have been briefed by the one that escaped the caves-- your Silverstar Companion is less effective than you would hope for against the rocky skin of these gargoyle-formed Djinn, the soft metal warping against the unyielding rock. Still, you're holding your own. You turn and watch as the second Djinn scrambles up the dune, all uncoordinated movements and rage. You heft the mace in your hands, bring it up above your head, and leap down the dune, planting it straight in the back of its head. The Djinn collapses against the dune, and you slam into it, what's left of its big, blunt head hitting you right in the gut. You cling to your mace for dear life, even as the gargoyle pushes itself back onto all fours and raises its head, growling. You yank the mace out of the back of its head and send another spray of Djinn-fire into the desert sky, but this time it elects not to reform, snapping at your arms with its wickedly curved beak. You try and sway out of its reach, but holding the mace you're too slow.   
It bites hard into your flesh, and you're only dimly aware of the strangled cry you emit-- your focus is almost entirely on the cold stone shearing through your flesh as easily as a knife through tofu. The Djinn shakes you, like a dog with a chew toy, and you grit your teeth, holding to the shaft of your mace as firmly as you can. Already your hands feel numb from the pain. It releases its grip, and you stagger backwards, the macehead suddenly too heavy to hold. You drop onto your backside, blood pumping down your arms and dripping into the sand. It lunges for you again, only this time it wraps its beak around a mouthful of Silverstar Companion. It rears up, screeching again, wings beating furiously with the pain. The sight lends you strength, and you struggle to your feet, weapon in hands, landing a windmill swing right in the sweet spot under its misshapen jaw, shattering the horrid beak into a hundred pieces. The Djinn topples, tumbling down the duneside, but already reforming. You hear a snarl rising behind you, and you decide to follow it, dropping to your side and rolling, your weapon stowed in your Strife Deck as you slide, slither and bounce down to the plateau you left your consorts buried beneath. As you do, you see the first Djinn squatting where you had been standing scant seconds before, looking increasingly put out.  
The Djinn you followed down the duneside has finished reforming, and now resembles a cross between a crocodile and a komodo dragon. Perfect. You sure could do with some of those superpowers manifesting right about now.

Foelog:

ALI: Hold it right There!

They do actually seem to pause in their tracks at that.

Foelog:

ALI: What Exactly do you think you're Doing?   
DJINN #1: Eradicating the pest trying to steal our labourers!   
ALI: They're not your Labourers! They're your Equals!   
DJINN #2: They are animals, and nothing more!   
ALI: They are Creations of your Lord, the same as you! Do you Presume to know his Intentions better than Him?   
DJINN #1: If our Lord disapproves of our conduct, then we shall be told.   
ALI: You are Being Told Now!

That gives them a moment's pause.

Foelog:

DJINN #1: ....You claim to be an emissary of our Lord?   
ALI: Do you Dare Contradict me?   
DJINN #2: But our Lord made no mention of this...   
ALI: Oh? And what Has he made Mention of, Lately?   
ALI: You are to Cease this Shameful abuse of your Fellow Beings Immediately. It Diminishes both of your Races and is Certainly Not the reason you were Created.   
ALI: Is this Understood?   
ALI: ...Well?

The Djinn are certainly taken aback by this revelation. The fires in their eyes flicker less fiercely, and they look between themselves in consternation.

Foelog:

DJINN #1: ...And if we refuse?   
ALI: You have seen but a Portion of my Tremendous Potential. If you do not Relent I shall come down upon your Race like an Angel of Death.   
ALI: You have not Known the Horror and Ignominy of true Oblivion, but you shall be Delivered to its Cloying Embrace one by one until your Acquiescence.   
DJINN #2: ...You're bluffing. No-one is that powerful!   
ALI: Your Lord is! And so, too, can I be. If you Crave your Demise so Keenly by all means Test my Claim.   
ALI: I Grow Tired of Humouring the Limited Intellects of minions such as yourselves.   
ALI: Deliver my Ultimatum to your Superiors, or I shall claim your Spirits and wear them as Trophies when I Deliver it Myself.   
ALI: Retreat. Leave the Salamanders in my Charge. Convey what I have told you to your Masters.

You watch as the two Djinn engage in a silent battle of wills between each other and you-- neither wanting to be the first one to admit defeat, but neither willing to risk itself in defying such a claim. At last, the Komodo dragon-crocodile hybrid, speaks.

Foelog: 

DJINN #2: Fine!   
DJINN #2: We shall deliver your message, Page.   
DJINN #2: Our leaders shall be the ones to decide your fate, not us.   
ALI: I Hope, for your sake, they Choose Wisely.

The Djinn snorts in contempt, and morphs once more into the gargoyle-like form it initially possessed. It screeches, a noise taken up by its cohort. You hear a rumbling behind you, and as you turn, the two cobra Djinn emerge from the ground, showers of sand pouring off them. You spy, with dismay, that several salamander bodies are speared on their cruel fangs, their mouths and bellies slick and glistening with blood.

Foelog:

DJINN #2: Drop your meals. We are leaving.   
DJINN #3: Ssssso sssssssooon? I've not had my fill.   
DJINN #2: We have a message to deliver.   
DJINN #3: From the Page? Perhapsssss he ssssshould deliver it in perssssson.   
DJINN #1: Leave him! For now. We will explain later.   
DJINN #4: Very well.

The cobra Djinn drop the dead salamanders to the ground below, and morph into their gargoyle forms once again. They, as one, spring into the air, hovering above.

Foelog:   
DJINN #2: Enjoy the next few hours, Page. They will likely be your last.  
ALI: The same to you.

And with that, they disappear off, heading back in the direction you came from. You collapse to the floor, attempting to stem the flow of blood from your sleeve. The shirt is pretty much ruined. It was already more or less a write-off, but now it appears to be comprised mainly of dirt and blood dried stiff, more than actual cloth.  
Your head is swimming, and you feel an almost overpowering urge to lie down. You do your best to remind yourself that giving in at this point will likely result in your death, and that you desperately need to find the salamander's stronghold.  
You take a moment out from staunching your arm to pound on the sand with your free fist, hollering as loudly as you can for the other salamanders to return. The fallen among their number lie scattered around, vicious puncture wounds having at least granted them a swift albeit painful death. More you have failed to save. At this rate no-one will make it back to the Salamander Village to deliver the news of your demise.  
Your hand is sticky with thick, dark blood. The movies all say that is a bad sign. You really kind of wish you could die in a more dramatically satisfying way-- no hero worth their salt has bled to death alone in the middle of some miserable freezing desert. You have some totally sweet last words you'd prepared for just such an occasion. Well, not just such an occasion. More a situation of this general kind. It would be such a terrible waste to die and for no-one to hear them. That would just be the corn kernel atop the turd cake of expiring in this stupid Game.

You hear a scrabbling around you. By now just the motion of turning your neck is enough to make your head swim, and you nearly lose your balance. On the floor. How the mighty have fallen. Or in your case, how the marginally competent have deteriorated further.

You hear the low whisperings of the salamander escapees, and you decide it's now or never. Your head lolls back on your neck and you look up at the sky; forever frozen between day and night, the bravest and brightest stars just beginning to poke their diamond points of brilliance through the smothering curtain of sunlight. It's beautiful. Life is beautiful. You're sorry to leave it.

Consortlog:

ALI: Lug't sgy. S'byuful.   
ALI: Th'g'll...t'ke a cl's'r lug.

You let your head fall back onto the sand, and close your eyes.


	23. Airborne Ultimatum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tina arrives in the Land of Sky and Lull, but things are far from serene. Featuring one recurring villain, two shameless parodies and another emotionally wrought cliffhanger.

You are now the girl between dimensions.

You have that peculiar feeling of displacement again. Like the tug on your chest when waking up in a strange bed, except it doesn't fade with realisation-- there is nothing to realise, just the roar of white space as it shoots past you on all sides. Just long enough for you to start to worry. Have you made a mistake coming through? Are you trapped in this space between spaces?  
Then, at last, you burst out. The hovership emerges into the world-- and promptly buries itself in the deck of a sailship. You lurch forward, crashing into the screen. Your ears fill with the noise of splintering wood, and you think you must black out for a moment or two, because when you open your eyes blood has run down your face from a cut on your left brow, just shy of your temple. A near miss. Your head is throbbing with the pain of impact, and the hovership's propulsors are whining, unable to gain momentum now they're snarled up in the ship and pointing in entirely the wrong direction. As you reel back, hand clutched to your bleeding head, your eyes fly open. The Delegate-- did you dislodge him in the impact?

It's dark in the belly of the tub you inadvertently crash-landed in. But from what you can see of the screen, now latticed with cracks, the spear is missing. In and of itself, that is not the greatest of comforts. Overhead-- or at least somewhere above where your head is-- you can hear what sounds very much like a monkey flipping its shit and running rampant. By what meagre light remains on the console, you locate and punch the cockpit hatch release. The mechanism groans and shifts marginally, letting a shower of detritus into the cockpit behind you. Other than that, no dice.  
Well, fuck.

You retrieve your scryMac from your sylladex to give you a little more light to work with. There is a section near the back of the cockpit where the hatch has lifted enough to perhaps fit through. If you wriggle. There is some wreckage from the collision in the way, but you can probably take care of that. Judging from the increasingly frantic monkey noises you can hear, you should be quick about it.  
You push your head through the gap. It's certainly a narrow fit, but you heave on the hatch and manage to open it up another inch, getting your shoulders, then the rest of your upper body through. You're up against a mass of wreckage now, though, and judging from the weight, it's load-bearing. You're loath to bring that down using magic while your head's in the way. Plus the hatch might close and trap your legs. Eventually, you settle for wriggling out parallel to the curve of the cockpit's hull, clinging to the side with one arm, squeezed into the tight space between the pile of splintered planks and other debris stacked up against the ship.  
Your other arm holds a Needlewand which you spin between your fingers and launch a heavy, percussive blast from, shrieking as the debris shifts and more tumbles down. You drop down to the deck below, and roll under the hovership's hull as best as you're able. You still catch a beam to the back of the legs and an inordinate amount of sawdust. With difficulty, you drag yourself out from under the offending beam, the dull, wet pain in your legs precluding a speedy ascent to the remains of the top deck. You hobble up, producing your second Needlewand, holding them both locked and ready to parry any nasty surprises.

The Delegate is topside, bleeding, ragged-looking, but still standing against Jarethsprite-- who does look remarkably like a purplescale simian iteration of David Bowie, it has to be said. Jarethsprite, too, is looking the worse for wear, several stab wounds in his arms and gut to show for his part. The Delegate is the first to see you, and he scowls, taking a step back.

Foelog:

DD: You ruined my ride, bitch.   
TINA: If You'd Let Go, I Wouldn't Have Had To.   
JARETHSPRITE: Stand down, agent. I have been generous 'til now. I can be cruel.   
DD: Why don't you take a banana and cram it up your ass, sprite.   
JARETHSPRITE: Tell me, Dersian: do you wanna live underground?

He produces, from somewhere in the shaggy fur of his coat, a glass ball with iridescent motes of light or sand swirling within. It's beautiful, but you don't think that's why he brought it out.

Foelog:

DD: That snowglobe supposed to intimidate me?   
JARETHSPRITE: Oh, it's not a snowglobe.   
TINA: What Is It?   
JARETHSPRITE: It's a crystal. But if you turn it this way and knock three times-- well, then it becomes rather more interesting.   
DD: ...You're bluffing.   
JARETHSPRITE: Bluffing? Bluffing? BLUFFING, tra-la-la?

He smacks the orb against the rail, and throws it up, high above the Delegate's head. As it begins to drop, it explodes with a mighty 'thoom'. You feel the shockwave on your face, even standing as far away as you are. The Delegate winces, and leaps forward, out of the way of the descending glitter which you assume is not going to be terribly healthy for anybody. Before he can close the distance between him and Jarethsprite though, you throw up a cat's cradle, and Jarethsprite has another ball in his hand.

Foelog: 

JARETHSPRITE: Ah-ah-ah.   
JARETHSPRITE: Go back to your planet. Play with your spying and your costumes. Forget about the girl.

The Delegate casts hateful looks at both of you, but you see in him, you think, an admission of defeat.

Foelog:

DD: This ain't over.

And before you can do anything to restrain him, he's up on the rail of the ship, and leaping off, into the sky. You hobble over to the side to watch him. He drops like a stone, and quickly vanishes from view into the haze below.

Consortlog:

TINA: Why Would He Do That?   
JARETHSPRITE: There are enough dropships in the area that he ought to be able to scramble one to pick him up. It's a very long way down.   
JARETHSPRITE: You must be the Seer.   
TINA: Yes. I'm Tina. I'm Very Happy To See A Friendly Face.   
TINA: Are You Alright? You Look Hurt.   
JARETHSPRITE: My death waits like a bible truth. Don't worry about me.   
TINA: Isn't There Anything I Can Do?   
JARETHSPRITE: I'm afraid not. Sprites are not meant to be long in this world.    
JARETHSPRITE: We can be heroes just for one day. Before we outlive our use. Have to make way for the homo superiors.   
JARETHSPRITE: Which reminds me. This is for you.

He flicks his wrist, and there, in his palm, rests a golden peach, which he tosses to you. You catch it, and study it with a suspicious eye.

Consortlog:

TINA: What's This?   
JARETHSPRITE: Little pick-me-up. You've been through the wars, I see.   
TINA: Can't You Eat It?   
JARETHSPRITE: No. It is a boon I can grant only for the Heroes.   
TINA: ...That's...That's Not Fair!   
JARETHSPRITE: Heh. I wonder what your basis for comparison is.   
JARETHSPRITE: Eat, my dear. You need your strength.

You slowly lift it to your lips, and take a small bite. It is without a doubt the tenderest, juiciest peach you have ever eaten. You can feel its goodness soaking into every pore, every cell of you like a tsunami of vigour. Your legs no longer ache, the cut on your brow closes, and the bruises and scrapes of your travails in escaping the Chancellor's chalet all vanish. All that remains is the regret of leaving behind your friend.  
Jarethsprite floats down onto a thick coil of rope, and leans against the side of the boat, regarding you with wise eyes, dulling as his strength slowly ebbs.

Consortlog:

JARETHSPRITE: You know, you remind me of the babe.

You can't help but give the tiniest of sad smiles as he sits there, his proud body leaking bright lavender blood. Spilled for you. Not even his own player.

TINA: What Babe?   
JARETHSPRITE: The babe...with the power.   
TINA: What Power?   
JARETHSPRITE: The power of Void.   
TINA: Void?   
JARETHSPRITE: Void.   
JARETHSPRITE: ...Celeste is still learning how best to serve her Element, but I think she will prevail.   
JARETHSPRITE: And you, Seer? How are you managing with your own powers?   
TINA: Um...Pass?   
TINA: Honestly I Really Don't Know What I'm Supposed To Be Learning What To Do.   
TINA: It's Hard Enough Just Getting These Wands To Do What I Want Them To.   
JARETHSPRITE: Your wands?   
TINA: My Octarine Needlewands. I Mean, I've Not Had Any Practical Experience With Magic, And No Experience Using Needles As Weapons, So It's All Pretty Alien To Me!   
JARETHSPRITE: ...   
JARETHSPRITE: Don't you wonder sometimes?   
TINA: What Do You Mean?   
JARETHSPRITE: Where their power stops... and yours begins?   
JARETHSPRITE: You do know, Heroes of Space can unlock phenomenal-- amounts of power with mastery of their... element.   
TINA: But I Don't Know How!   
JARETHSPRITE: Maybe not yet. Perhaps not fully. But you will.   
JARETHSPRITE: You should go... and find Celeste. I think she will have need of you... soon.   
TINA: I Don't Want To Leave You Like This.   
JARETHSPRITE: It is her I'm concerned with.   
JARETHSPRITE: Take up... your vessel, and go.   
TINA: My Vessel?

You follow the line of his increasingly hazy eyes, and see the end of the hovership poking out of the ruined deck.

Consortlog:

TINA: You Have Got To Be Kidding Me.   
TINA: How The Hell Am I Supposed To Pull That Thing Out?   
TINA: It's Too Big!   
JARETHSPRITE: Only big to a mind-- too small to understand its own potential.   
TINA: Look, I Know You're Trying To Help, But I'm Just Not Strong Enough!    
TINA: Maybe If It Was Smaller, Or I Was Stronger, It Would Be Different!   
JARETHSPRITE: No... no different. Only different-- in your mind.   
JARETHSPRITE: Show me...

You stand, and produce your Needlewands, looking down at them. Is Jarethsprite right? Are they really just crutches you're leaning upon? Their power and utility has grown as you've gained confidence and experience in the game, as you've advanced up your Echeladder. Maybe that's what you ought to expect. Then again, has anyone else experienced anything similar? What was everyone else's Title again? What exactly was a Maid of Void supposed to do anyway? It kind of sounds ominous. But Celeste is a Prospan dreamer, you're fairly sure. She wouldn't ally herself with anything sinister. Then thoughts of Whobes skate across your mind, and you suddenly aren't so sure. You decide to focus on the task at hand, on proving Jarethsprite wrong so you can stay with him and make him more comfortable for his impending demise.

You hold the wands out before you, like a couple of conductor's batons, and throw out a strand of force with a flick of the wrist, feeling it settle underneath the bulk of the hovership. With your other hand you twist out another, across and under the first. Then you begin to knit.

It is because the threads are at present, mere extensions of will, elements of the strange power you only feel when holding the wands, that you are able to manipulate them while they simultaneously sit beneath the several tons of machinery currently puttering and failing in the belly of the boat. They form a sling. Then a web. Then, a net. Then, at last, you begin to pull. The threads go taut under the extreme weight of the ship, and for a moment you almost feel as if the thing is shifting-- but the strain is too much for you to maintain. You sink to the deck, exhausted.

Consortlog:

TINA: See? It's Impossible.   
JARETHSPRITE: Impossible?   
JARETHSPRITE: ...Carry me.   
TINA: What?    
JARETHSPRITE: Carry me over there.   
JARETHSPRITE: I want to show you something.   
TINA: But...You'll Die.   
JARETHSPRITE: Nothing... can prevent that now...

You decide to honour his wish. You store your Needlewands and scoop him up, under the shoulders and tail. He's incredibly light, much more so than you were expecting, and cold. Kind of moist. But not wet. It's strange. You bear him to the edge of the shattered deck, and peer over.  
Jarethsprite holds out his arms. With a gesture halfway between beckoning, and petting a cat, he reaches out. First with one hand, then the other. You hear a shuddering grind, which builds to a groan. You want to drop to your knees and look over the edge properly, but you're frightened if you disturb him now he'll lose his focus and have wasted his last moments for nothing. So you wait, as second by second, the groaning abates and you instead start to see the hovership loom out of the dark below. It's magnificent, and not just because the thing is whirring and purring like some kind of UFO looming out of the darkness. You step back as Jarethsprite raises it out of the cavity, and sets it on the side. The thruster is still on, so as it sinks to the ground, you lever the cockpit open as gently and as best you can with your hands occupied and climb in, wrenching the throttle back. Jarethsprite collapses into the crook of your arms, shaggy head sagging back. This isn't exactly what you fantasised about, all those times in your lean teenage years, but still. David Bowie is swooning in your arms! If only he weren't, y'know, also a monkey, a ghost, embalmed, and dying.

You lower him into your lap.

Consortlog:

TINA: That Was Incredible. How Did You Do That?   
JARETHSPRITE: Still...the Goblin...King...   
TINA: Thank You. Please, Try And Rest.   
JARETHSPRITE: The thought... had occurred...   
TINA: I'm Going To Get In Touch With Celeste.

 

voraciousThespian [VT] began pestering cleopatrasBard [CB]

VT: Hey So I Now Appear To Be In Your Land.   
VT: I May Have Also Kind Of Broken Your Ship To An Extent.   
VT: But I Will Totally Fix That.   
VT: Or At Least I'm Sure Ali Will When He Gets The Chance.   
VT: You Should Have More Than Enough Grist And It's Not Like The Apartment Itself Was Damaged.   
VT: Are You There?   
VT: Celeste?   
CB: hurtsss   
VT: Celeste?   
VT: What's Going On? Are You OK?   
CB: hlp   
VT: Where Are You?   
VT: Celeste?   
VT: Celeste!   
VT: Talk To Me!

She's not responding.

Consortlog:

TINA: Jarethsprite!   
TINA: Jarethsprite, Celeste's In Trouble!   
JARETHSPRITE: Is she, now...   
TINA: I Have To Go To Her!   
TINA: Do You Have Any Idea Where She Might Be?   
JARETHSPRITE: Sorry....no idea...   
TINA: I Have To Find Her!   
JARETHSPRITE: Start looking...   
TINA: You're A Great Help, You Know That?   
JARETHSPRITE: ...No...   
JARETHSPRITE: Start...Looking...   
JARETHSPRITE: Use...your Sight...   
TINA: My Sight?

Jarethsprite pulls, from somewhere in his mass of fur, a small pendant, holding it up to you with trembling hand before he slips back into unconsciousness again. Shit. What are you supposed to do? You take the pendant from his still hand, turning it over in your own. It has the Game's peculiar, spiralling design on it, but beyond that it doesn't seem to have anything to do with your alleged Seer powers. What can you possibly use this for--

You run for the door to Celeste's apartment, on the stern of the ship. You have some alchemy experiments to perform. Quickly.


	24. Restless Rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ali awakes from a disturbing dream, is led to a Gate, and makes a heartfelt speech.

You are now the waking Page.

Night has come at last, it seems, as you blink your eyes open. You feel a lot better: stiff as hell, but a lot better. No pain in your arm, no aches in your back or your legs. Much, much better, almost like a new man. Your eyes begin to refocus, and you stare up at the night sky. The pulsing, undulating night sky.  
Wait, what?

OHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHITOHSHIT

You are now the waking Page. Your eyes fly open as you flail your arms and legs around in complete panic, screaming and shouting in a voice alien even to yourself. You feel yourself being dropped, albeit from a very low height, and raise yourself up on your elbows, glancing around. You're in a procession of salamanders, in a section of the desert you don't recognise. Not that that's especially new. In your experience there's not an awful lot to distinguish one dune from the next, and you've mostly been muddling along by looking to the blue fires as markers, impermanent as they apparently are.

You are happy to still be alive, even happier that your wounds appear to have healed and many of the aches and pains you had accumulated disappeared, but you have to admit confusion. Where are you now? What happened?

Consortlog:

ALI: Um, would someone mind Awfully telling me what's going on?  
ALI: The Carrying is nice and all, but where Exactly are we going?

The Grandparents appear from behind you, apparently from the head of the column.

Consortlog:

GRANDPAPA: Ah, you're awake!  
GRANDMAMA: We were beginning to worry we'd have to wake you ourselves. You're quite the heavy sleeper!  
ALI: I'm not Usually. I guess my little Adventure really took it out of me.  
GRANDMAMA: I'm not surprised. Our returned kin told us of your exploits in releasing them and escorting them back to our Village.  
ALI: So...they made it back Safely?  
GRANDPAPA: Oh yes. Aside from the minor casualties sustained during the Djinn attack, everyone made it back safe and sound.  
ALI: That's great news. Thank you.  
GRANDPAPA: No, Page. We should be the ones thanking you.  
GRANDMAMA: Strictly speaking we are. We're headed to one of the gates you spoke of earlier.  
ALI: We are? Oh, Fantastic!  
ALI: Why Exactly do we need so many to Escort me?  
GRANDPAPA: Safety in Numbers, brave Page.  
GRANDMAMA: Your ruse will likely have bought us time, but the Djinn are too covetous of power and control to consider your words with the rigour they deserve.  
GRANDMAMA: They will strike back, and with the leave you are taking, we will bear the brunt of their assault. We need to be prepared.  
GRANDPAPA: Needless to say, we will be talking very closely with our brothers and sisters who helped you defeat the Djinn in the mine.  
ALI: I Dunno if that really Counts as a Defeat, though.  
ALI: I mean, it Escaped, for a Start.  
GRANDMAMA: You made it retreat with its tail between its legs, and that at least is a triumph.

You get to your feet, and brush yourself down, trying to obscure the pride spreading across your face. The column starts up again, and you fall into pace with the Grandparents, idling along as they march on their stumpy legs.

Consortlog:

ALI: It really wasn't Anything to do with me.  
ALI: The others did all the work, Really.  
GRANDPAPA: Your modesty does you credit, but you shouldn't downplay your own achievements.  
GRANDMAMA: Our liberated kin have spoken about your stirring words and actions in the mines. Your defiance. Your ceaseless belief in their agency, their power to seize their own destinies back from the clutches of the Djinn.  
ALI: They said all That?  
GRANDMAMA: They can be quite talkative if you have the patience to listen. Not to blame you. You had enough to concern yourself with, and they were hardly likely to confide in you first of all anyway.  
GRANDMAMA: You should be happy that you managed to reach them in the first place. Give them back a little of what the Djinn stole from them.  
ALI: I am.  
ALI: ...You know I'll be Back, Right?  
GRANDPAPA: Oh, we should hope so.  
ALI: With Friends. With the other Heroes.  
GRANDMAMA: We look forward to it.  
ALI: Do you Believe me?  
GRANDPAPA: Yes, Page. Of course.  
ALI: Because you don't sound Convinced.  
GRANDMAMA: Oh, we're sorry, Page. It's not that we don't believe you. It's just that we have a lot to do in the meantime, while we're waiting for your return. We have to make sure our other bolthole hasn't been compromised, that our wounded can be taken there quickly and safely. That traps are laid for any Djinn who penetrate the Village's perimeter. There is lots to consider.  
ALI: I didn't Realise.  
ALI: They're Lucky to have you two.  
GRANDPAPA: Yes, they are.  
GRANDPAPA: But we're no replacement for the four Heroes. We shall hope that you return with your companions swiftly to continue the job of restoring the balance between us and the Djinn.  
ALI: Yes. I hope so too.

You are entering a deep canyon, with tall, smooth slopes-- pretty much impossible for you to climb, you reckon. But that doesn't matter. At the far end of the canyon, you can see, hanging in the air, a warping, shifting spiral design. The gate.

Consortlog:

ALI: Wow, you Really found one!  
GRANDMAMA: Of course.  
GRANDPAPA: Did you doubt us?  
ALI: No!  
ALI: Well, I was worried that our Wires were Crossed.  
ALI: Are you sure it's safe?  
GRANDPAPA: We imagine so. We've never been through it ourselves, of course. But we have no reason to doubt it serves its purpose perfectly.  
ALI: I meant this Canyon. Are you sure you're not going to be Ambushed when you try to leave?  
GRANDMAMA: Oh.  
GRANDPAPA: Well, that's why we brought our brethren, in case we need to try and fight our way out.  
ALI: ...I Appreciate you going to these Lengths for me.  
GRANDMAMA: After you struck the first blow against the Djinn for us? How could we do anything less?  
GRANDMAMA: Your powers will grow as you travel the other Lands. We will continue the work you have started, to the best of our ability, and fondly await your return. And the arrival of your companions, should they choose to lend their strength to this fight.  
ALI: Heh.  
ALI: I can't see them passing up a cause of Social Justice quite as Marked as this, somehow.  
GRANDPAPA: Your friends must be kind souls as well.  
ALI: Yeah. I Think so.  
ALI: I'll get back to you on That one.  
GRANDMAMA: Have you found a use for our gifts yet?  
ALI: Not quite. I have some Ideas I want to try out when I get the Chance.  
GRANDPAPA: That's good to hear. I'm sure they'll be of use to you.  
ALI: Really? What makes you Say That?  
GRANDPAPA: ...Um, well, they are rather mysterious and impressive items.  
GRANDPAPA: And you are on a rather mysterious quest. It just seems like the likeliest outcome.  
ALI: That's fair, I Suppose.  
ALI: There's still so much I don't Understand about my Purpose here. My Sprite has been Horribly Unhelpful.  
GRANDMAMA: Well, I hope in some way we have redressed the balance for you.  
ALI: Oh, I should think so. You've been Fantastic.  
GRANDPAPA: Thank you.  
GRANDPAPA: Before you go:  
ALI: Yes?  
GRANDPAPA: Would it be possible for you to say a few words to our kin?  
ALI: Um...  
GRANDMAMA: Nothing too demanding.  
GRANDMAMA: Just reassuring them you'll be returning and explaining where you're going.  
GRANDMAMA: Give them the stomach to face the coming hardships, that sort of thing.  
ALI: If you Desire.  
ALI: I don't see why I should be more Apt for the Task than either of Yourselves.  
ALI: I mean, they don't Know me.  
GRANDPAPA: They know the warrior who held off two Djinn single-handedly so the slaves he had daringly freed from the bowels of an enemy fortress could save themselves.  
ALI: Yeah, well, when you put it like That of Course it sounds Awesome.  
ALI: But I didn't really do that.  
ALI: ...OK, well, I did, but it wasn't Really like you Said.  
GRANDPAPA: Page, you will learn in time that half of the work of being a Hero is inspiring others by your example.  
GRANDPAPA: Your example will give dozens, maybe hundreds of salamanders the strength to do what no salamander has dared in a generation.  
GRANDPAPA: To stand up to the Djinn. To draw the line in the sand and say, 'No more'.  
ALI: So...no Pressure then.  
GRANDMAMA: Hoo hoo! We have faith in your abilities, dear. Just speak from your heart. You're good with words, aren't you?  
ALI: Yes, I-- well, Usually. Providing stirring Oratories for racial Uprisings is rather out of my Purview.  
GRANDPAPA: You'll be fine. We'll give you some time to think it over.

They fall back, joining with the salamanders behind who were giving you a wide berth.  
You can't talk to these people. If they're not afraid of you, they're too in awe to regard you as anything less than a larger-than-life mythic figure they've pinned all their hopes on for a generation.  
You try to regain your calm. The Grandparents told you, it's not so much about being the Hero yourself as igniting the fires of heroism in others. They can't be expecting you to liberate this Land by yourself.  
You wonder whether the others have got roped into quests on behalf of their Consorts as well. You've not spoken to Whobes since that one time. Celeste appears to have enlisted her Consorts' help in getting her round her Land (you wish the salamanders had some sort of vehicle, that would've made things so much easier), and Tina? No idea. Maybe it's a Page thing.  
You still think that's a bit rich, anyway. Why do you have to be a Page? You're twenty-five, for christ's sake. If anything you should be a Knight. Not according to the Game, though. Maybe you can graduate to be a Knight if you fulfil your duties here. The thought stirs you to redouble your efforts composing a suitable speech.  
Wow, this canyon is really tall. If the Djinn find out the salamanders are here, there won't be any escape short of burrowing out, and you're pretty sure that trick won't work so well a second time. In fact, if the Djinn have an ounce of sense, they'll already have countermeasures to all the strategies that have even proved halfway effective against them so far. That, you suppose, is the problem with facing a shapeshifting foe.

You come to a halt before the Gate, as it pulses and glows a deep blue in the evening light. It's floating about ten feet in the air. You really hope the salamanders can give you a leg up or something, otherwise you're going to have to try and climb the sides of the canyon. Which strikes you as a rather undignified way to go about it.  
The salamanders spread out behind you, filling the space as the column slowly files up, fanning out into an audience. The Grandparents step forward and stand beside you.  
When all of them are gathered, Grandmama clears her throat.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: Brothers and sisters! Thank you for helping us ensure the safe passage of our courageous Page from this Land.  
GRANDMAMA: Though he is weary from his many, hard-won victories, he has asked to address all of us before he departs.  
GRANDMAMA: Please give him the hero's reception he deserves!

Oh. Right. You had kind of been hoping for a low-key introduction, but here they are, clapping away and cheering, sending fireballs off into the air. You raise your hands to appeal for silence, but that just makes them more excited. You settle for pressing down your hands against air, to try and get them to quieten down. That works better, and they are soon settled enough for you to speak.

Consortlog:

ALI: Thank you All. And thank you, Grandmama, for your kind Introduction. The Salamanders of this Land have been so Good to me.   
ALI: ...I wish I could say the same for Everyone else.

They didn't laugh. Shit. OK. Move on.

Consortlog: 

ALI: Ahem. Being Serious, though-- when I Arrived in this Land I was as Naive as a Child.  
ALI: I learned Quickly that this place, Possessed of its own Queer beauty, could nevertheless be Hostile. Dangerous.   
ALI: I had to learn fast to Defend myself, and what remained of my Home.  
ALI: My previous training had Equipped me with the Basics, and I had excellent Motivation to learn the rest on the Job.  
ALI: It wasn't long before I came across my first Salamander. The Son, without whom none of us would be where we are Now.  
ALI: His Childish Trust where others feared me was what brought us Together.  
ALI: I Understand, in this Conflict, it is easy to distrust. To fear. To Hate.  
ALI: What we all must Remember is, we are Different to the Beings we are fighting.  
ALI: We are Capable of more than them. We are not Mindless Critters sent to fight and die in their Droves in the name of some Distant Kingdom.  
ALI: We are not Vicious, Emotionally Stunted beings given only to Avarice and Malice.  
ALI: And that is why we will Win.  
ALI: It will not be Easy. It will not be Quick.  
ALI: Not all of us will Survive to see Victory.   
ALI: But mark my words. We Shall Prevail.  
ALI: I know this because of what I See. When I look at those Brave souls Gathered here.  
ALI: You have lived under a Shadow for so long. But you Kept Hope Alive.  
ALI: The Determination, the Self-Reliance, the Indefatigability you have Learned in your Exile will give you the edge over your Foes, who have Grown Arrogant, Dull and Slow.  
ALI: Where they are Scattered and Weak, you will be a Crushing Boulder.  
ALI: Where they are Arrayed in Static, Solid Force, you will be a Sandstorm that strikes and melts away before Reprisal.  
ALI: Their Greatest Strength is also their most Telling Weakness.  
ALI: A being that Shifts Forms as easily as we Breathe air cannot truly know what it is to be Master of their Body. Though they are Born of Fire, they lack the Skill that even your hatchlings know. The Discipline to Train their Forms to achieve Mastery.  
ALI: Your Commitment to your Community, your Selves, and your Way of Life will give you Heart where the Djinn have only fire.  
ALI: Fire is fickle. Mutable. Easily doused. But Salamanders are made of Sterner Stuff.  
ALI: The Steady pulse of a Thousand Stalwart Hearts striving for Justice and Freedom shall be the Drumbeat to which this Uprising shall March, and the Anthem of our Inevitable Victory!  
ALI: Courage, my Worthiest of Friends! Ours is the Side of Right! Times will be Hard, but with Iron Will and Implacable Valour we shall Build a Future of which all Salamanders can be Rightly Proud!  
ALI: Are you With Me?

The crowd responds with a deafening cheer. Fireballs are flying off in all directions. You're almost concerned it might give away your position, but the canyon walls should protect them from detection.  
That went better than expected, considering how you veered off-script for the entire second half of it. You're not entirely sure what came over you, but you're glad it did. Those salamanders look fit to storm the gates of hell now. The Grandparents approach you, and each reach for a hand. They lead you to directly underneath the gate, and the other salamanders swarm up. Five take each foot from under you, and a dozen catch you as you fall back, another ten taking your arms. Grandmama and Grandpapa support your head.

Consortlog:

GRANDMAMA: Excellently spoke, Page.  
GRANDPAPA: Your Element is awakening in you.  
GRANDMAMA: Perhaps by the time you return, you'll be perfectly attuned.  
GRANDPAPA: Although we certainly hope to see you sooner than that.

The salamanders start to heave you up and down, ready to toss you upwards into the portal. You turn your head, as much as you are able, to look at the Grandparents.

Consortlog:  
ALI: Wait, what?  
ALI: My Element?  
ALI: Tell me! What is it?  
GRANDMAMA: Hoo hoo hoo hoo!

Too late. With a last, mighty heave, they launch you into the air, and into the gate. You feel a sensation like electricity shivering in every fibre of flesh and bone in your body. Then everything goes blue.


	25. Hoverships and Mayhem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Page and the Seer sally out to rescue their Maid.

You are now the so-called Seer.

You have been frenziedly alchemising arcane items in the hope of perfecting some kind of proper scrying stone or scrying orb. Or scrying anything, really. You'd settle for a scrying mothball if it could help you find Celeste. But nothing you've made appears to do the job. You've been using that magic globe code and your scryMac as the base for your alchemisation, with the end result that you're now carrying about half a dozen computers of varying stripe on you, like some kind of crazy person. And you're still no closer to finding Celeste. It's driving you out of your mind-- for all you know, she's already dead but you'd never be able to tell, because you can't See for shit.

You hear the sound of something hitting metal hard, with a clang, then loud and distinctive cursing. What the--   
You run out on to the deck.

Peeling himself off the topside hull of the hovership that Jarethsprite left parked beneath the Gate, clad in torn, raggedy-ass blood-stained clothes and some sort of rubber gimp waistcoat, is Ali. You walk to the hovership and watch as he dusts himself off, waiting for him to notice you through his muttering and fussing. He does not.  
You clear your throat.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Shit, Trappsen, I didn't know you were Standing there.   
TINA: I Wasn't. Your Voice Carries, You Know.   
TINA: You Look Like Shit.   
ALI: Your pardon, I Beseech, Princess. If I'd known you'd be on the other end of this Cross-Dimensional Fun-ride I'd have cleaned myself up a little.   
TINA: Actually It's Not Cross-Dimensional.   
ALI: Huh?   
TINA: It's Not Important. Celeste's In Trouble.   
ALI: She is? Where?   
TINA: I Don't Know!   
TINA: I've Been Trying To Alchemise Something That Can Track Her Down, But Nothing's Working.   
ALI: What are you Using?   
TINA: My scryOrb And A Whole Bunch Of Other Stuff.   
ALI: I, uh, I Think I might have something that could Work.

You are furiously punching and repunching cards. At last, something shows up. It involved the pendant Jarethsprite gave you, your scryOrb, Ali's Scrollbook, that amber lens thing he picked up somewhere, and some fantasy map Celeste had framed on her wall, but The Atlas Celestia is complete, costing the larger part of Celeste's Grist hoard. You're counting on the fact that you can still access it meaning that she hasn't died. Not that you know that is even a thing within the Game, but you're determined to think positive.

Dialoglog:

ALI: So this is a Celeste-centric Marauder's Map, right?   
TINA: That's The General Idea, I Think. How Do We Turn It On?   
ALI: 'I Solemnly Swear that I am up to the Saving of Skaia.'   
TINA: Very Droll. Ha. Ha.   
TINA: Oh.   
ALI: Get in! Can't Believe that worked.   
ALI: So, this icon represents Us?   
TINA: And Celeste Is Here.   
TINA: Right. Time To Go.   
ALI: Go?   
TINA: We're Taking The Hovership.   
ALI: Do you even know how to Fly that Thing?   
TINA: More Or Less.   
ALI: Suddenly I am Rather more Worried for Myself.   
TINA: I Don't Have Time For This, Ali. Are You Coming Or Not?   
ALI: Of Course I am. Let's go.

 

You are the Page of Hovership Safety, and you are crossing all appendages that Tina doesn't somehow make this ramshackle contraption explode and kill you both. She managed at least to get the thing in the air, although it involved an awful lot of pulling the wrong levers and pressing some apparently superfluous switches first. Now you're lurching through the air, and the engine or whatever is powering this thing is whining in a way that you are hard-pressed to find typical. Because clearly your knowledge of hovership engines is your first pick for Mastermind Specialist Subject. You would totally hand Magnus Magnusson his arse in a bucket, had he not died a few years before everyone else. But yeah, this hovership is a piece of shit.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Is there any way of Fixing that Crack?   
TINA: I'm Not Stopping To Fix An Insignificant Crack.   
ALI: What if we lose Cabin Pressure or something?   
TINA: We're Not Going That High Up!   
ALI: We kind of already Are That High Up.   
TINA: Feeling Depressurised?   
ALI: Not really.   
TINA: Then Shut Up And Keep It That Way.

You shut up.  
Mainly because you've just received an incoming message from Whobes. This can't be good.

 

jocularWordsmith [JW] began pestering averseNotary [AN]

JW: hey.   
JW: you in losal yet?   
AN: What's Losal?   
JW: land of sky and lull.   
AN: At a Guess: yes?   
JW: and you know about celeste, right?   
AN: Tina told me.   
AN: We're going to Find her now.   
JW: good. just checking.   
AN: Wait, how do You know about Celeste?   
JW: not getting into that now.   
JW: too busy.   
JW: i'll be in touch.   
AN: Wait!   
AN: I'm not Finished talking to you!   
JW: well, it's your call, ali.   
JW: what's more important, saving celeste or nagging me?   
AN: ...Fuck you.   
JW: yeah, that's fair.   
JW: talk to you later   
JW: bro.   
AN: I Have No Bro!

jocularWordsmith [JW] is now an idle chum!

 

Well, that was not what you would call a good omen. 

Dialoglog:

TINA: Who Were You Talking To?   
ALI: Whobes.   
TINA: Oh? What Did He Have To Say For Himself?   
ALI: He Knew about Celeste. Somehow.   
TINA: Somehow?   
ALI: Yeah.   
TINA: ...What Are You Thinking?   
ALI: I'm trying not to Think what I'm Thinking.   
TINA: You Think He Did It?   
ALI: No. Yes. ...No.   
TINA: I Don't Think He Would Do Something Like That.   
ALI: I hope you're Right.   
ALI: I just don't Understand him at the Moment.   
ALI: Huh.   
TINA: What?   
ALI: He's just come back Online.   
TINA: Well Don't Tell Me About It, Talk To Him!   
ALI: I am.

 

averseNotary [AN] began pestering jocularWordsmith [JW]

AN: I'm not Finished.   
AN: How do you Know about Celeste?   
JW: finished what?   
JW: what about celeste?   
AN: Don't play Dumb Goddammit!   
AN: I don't have the Patience for your Bullshit!   
JW: uh...   
JW: i have exactly no idea what you're talking about.   
AN: Are you Fucking kidding me?   
AN: You just did your Cryptic Soothsayer Thing then logged off before I could try and Extricate any kind of Sense out of you.   
JW: did i?   
AN: Yes?   
JW: um.   
JW: if you say so bro.   
AN: I already Stated.   
AN: I am Not your Bro, guy.   
JW: harsh.   
AN: What's going on here, Exactly?   
JW: seems like you know more about it than me.   
JW: where are you?   
AN: I'm in Losal, as if you Didn't Know.   
JW: losal?   
AN: The Land of Sky and Lull.   
JW: oh, celeste's land?   
AN: Yes, Celeste's Land.   
AN: Trying to save her Keister from whatever she's got herself Tangled up in.   
JW: i guess i should try to do something about that.   
AN: Why, where are You?   
JW: don't worry about that. i can make it work.   
AN: Make what Work?   
JW: i'll talk to you soon.   
JW: kind of.   
AN: Wait don't

jocularWordsmith [JW] is now an idle chum!

 

Dialoglog:

ALI: God Fucking Dammit.   
TINA: What Is It Now?   
ALI: I have no Idea.   
ALI: He just Denied all Knowledge and then Logged off.   
ALI: Again.   
TINA: Um...   
ALI: I Know, right?   
ALI: Are we anywhere near Celeste yet?   
TINA: Just About.   
TINA: That Ship Down--   
TINA: Oh Dear.   
ALI: Wha-- Oh.

You can see a huge derelict wreck of a galleon. Ragged sails, ruined deck, rigging hanging in tatters. Thing looks like a ghost ship. As Tina brings you in closer, your suspicions are confirmed.

Dialoglog:

TINA: What The Hell Is That Thing?   
ALI: Uh, I'm not Versed in this Land's Lore...   
ALI: But I'd call it a Ghost.   
ALI: Park this Fucker and we'll Ask it where Celeste is.   
TINA: I'm Sorry, What?   
ALI: Please park this Fucker?   
TINA: If I Didn't Need You To Help Me With Celeste...   
ALI: Well, you Do.

Tina brings the hovership in high, and slowly cuts out the upward thrust, lowering it onto the distressed bow deck. It's rather an elegant move, actually. You're kind of impressed she's got the hang of it so quickly. She pops the cabin and you both scramble out, racing for the ship's wheel and the giant levitating lizard-head. You skid to a halt when you reach the stern and see Celeste, suspended in the translucent stuff of the ghost.

Foelog:

TINA: What Are You Doing With Our Friend?   
GHOST: HAVE YOU COME TO SUBMIT YOURSELF TO THE SAME JUDGMENT AS SHE?   
ALI: Let her Go!   
GHOST: IMPOSSIBLE. SHE HAS ALREADY SURRENDERED HER WILL TO ME. EVEN NOW, I AM SIPHONING IT OFF TO PREPARE FOR THE NEXT PENITENT.   
TINA: Last Chance. Let Her Go.   
GHOST: DO YOU MEAN TO HARM ME, SEER? RESTRAIN HER, PAGE, BEFORE YOU LOSE ANOTHER FRIEND.   
ALI: What do you Mean, Another?   
GHOST: THE MAID'S LIFE FORCE IS ALMOST SPENT. SHE IS STRONG, BUT STRENGTH OF ARMS IS NO MATCH FOR THE POWER OF HER OWN GUILT.   
GHOST: YOU TWO WILL SUCCUMB JUST AS EASILY SHOULD YOU INTERFERE.

Tina is not convinced by the ghost's argument. You can tell by the way she snarls and whips her hands forward, holding a keen and glowing pair of knitting needles, many glowing green threads issuing from their ends. The threads tear through the air, lash straight through the wispy body of the ghost and snare the lolling, senseless form of Celeste. The ghost roars as Tina yanks the wands back, ripping Celeste out of its innards, and letting her drift gently to the ground.

Foelog:

GHOST: SO BE IT.

It roars, and Tina screams and clutches her head, falling to her knees. The Silverstar Companion drops into your hand before you remember you're fighting a ghost. You stride in front of her and Celeste anyway.

Foelog:

ALI: Oi, Prick!   
ALI: Pack it in.   
GHOST: THE SEER HAS ELECTED TO SUBSTITUTE HER LIFE FOR THE MAID'S. DO YOU PRESUME TO INTERFERE?   
ALI: Their lives aren't yours to Claim.   
ALI: So...Jog On.   
GHOST: HOW DARE YOU?

It turns its psychic ire on you, and you are staggered at first by the waves of negative energy boring into your mind. It feels simultaneously like the worst hangover you've ever suffered and being viciously, spitefully rejected by every single partner, every friend you've ever had. You want to curl up into a ball and vomit until you're hollow like an eggshell, tear every nerve, every mote of mind out of yourself until you can't feel this or anything else ever again.  
But as you start to fold in on yourself, turn away from the spectre and cower, you catch sight of your friends. Celeste, pale, drawn, still. Tina, still reeling from the cruel barrage of psychic energy.   
No. You can't let them suffer in your place. If you have to die, you'll do it defending the people you love. You force yourself to stand tall, though you sweat and sway and want to hurl.

Foelog:

ALI: ...That all you Got?   
ALI: Come at me, Bro...

The spirit's ghoulish face twists in displeasure, and it howls at you, the atrocious din reverberating in your skull like a thousand ball bearings in a can. It's unbearable. You drop your mace, and sink to one knee, pressing your hands to your ears in the vain hope that they might somehow keep the noise out. It doesn't help. The ghost lets up, for a moment, and you look up, into its cruel face, before it strikes you with the inhuman noise again. You pitch forward, and on hands and knees empty the contents of your stomach onto the wormwood-eaten deck, barely able to lift your arm to wipe your mouth. You actually feel a little better-- one less thing to torment you.

Foelog:

GHOST: MORE?   
ALI: Keep it...Coming...   
ALI: ...C'n take...Anythin' you Got...   
GHOST: YOUR FALSE BRAVADO WINS YOU NO RESPECT OR IRE FROM ME.   
GHOST: CEASE YOUR RESISTANCE.   
GHOST: YOU CANNOT SAVE THEM.   
ALI: Says...you...

It responds by blasting you again. Your trembling arms threaten to buckle as you screw your eyes shut against the pain, the shards of red glass burrowing into your head. Yet, even as you fight to keep yourself from total collapse, you feel the pain lightening. Like honey trickling down the inside of your skull, you can feel a warmth spreading over you, a soft, insulating force that blocks out the worst of the pain where it lingers. You are still weak from the psychic assault, but after several moments of this miraculous sensation diffusing through your mind, you feel you might even be able to stand. You lift one knee. Then the other. And then, then you draw yourself up, dizzy, eyes screwed-up and squinting, but upright. Defiant.

Foelog:

GHOST: YOU WILL CEASE!   
ALI: ...Are you going to Make me?

It steps up its efforts once more, but you can feel now it is doing its utmost, and you are increasingly able to bear its effects. Whatever is happening, you are developing resistance to this ghost's attacks.  
And not just you.

Foelog:

GHOST: TAKE YOUR PUNISHMENT LIKE THE WRETCHES YOU ARE!   
TINA: Ali, What's Going On?   
ALI: Are you OK?   
TINA: I'm Fine. What Are You Doing?   
ALI: I think I'm Beating it.   
ALI: Think you can Finish it off?   
TINA: I--   
TINA: I'll Try.

You concentrate on holding back your increasingly frantic enemy's bombardment, as Tina draws herself up, the Needlewands back in her hands. Her eyes are dark, but hard, unyielding intent boil off them like steam off a screaming kettle. She raises the wands, and you can see impossible colours dancing along them, prickles of lightning earthing themselves on her sleeves.  
She raises one, and a great arc of purple-red-green electricity splits the sky, arcing over your head before exploding over the ghost, splitting into a storm cage that surrounds it in fierce, roiling energy that hurts the eye to look on.  
Her second wand, pointed straight at the ghost, lets out a screech and a wide thick, green beam of plasma wipes forward, crashing over the cage and hitting the ghost with the force of a tidal wave. It emits a spine-chilling howl that lasts only a few seconds, before it is obliterated entirely by the pure unstoppable energy of her wrath. At once, the psychic maelstrom hammering at your skull abates, and your breath catches in your throat, such a relief it is from the assault. Head rolling on your shoulders, you look sidelong at Tina, whose arms drop to her side.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Wow.   
TINA: You OK?   
ALI: Mmm.   
TINA: Celeste?

You lurch towards the prostrate body of your friend, still lying so very still. You lose your balance and drop to your knees, so you scramble over the damp deck to drag her onto your lap and press your fingers to her neck.

Dialoglog:

TINA: Is She Breathing?   
ALI: Barely.   
ALI: Where is Whobes when you really Need him?   
TINA: Oh!   
TINA: I've Got Him On My Orb!   
ALI: What's he Saying?   
TINA: ...

You are now the Seer, keenly reading between the lines of your compatriot's messages.

JW: have you got her?   
VT: Yes. She's Not Conscious Though.   
JW: how's she doing?   
VT: Doesn't Look Great.   
VT: The Ghost Said Something About Draining Or Spending Her Life Force.   
JW: yeah, that's what i was afraid of.   
VT: Well, Do You Know What We Can Do For Her?   
VT: Should I Get Some Vitality Gel?   
JW: no, that won't help in this case.   
JW: that only heals physical damage.   
JW: celeste's spirit is dying.   
VT: What?   
JW: if she's not responding to you trying to wake her, it's already too late.   
VT: Too Late For What?   
JW: we have one option left.   
VT: Tell Me.

 

ALI: Tina!   
TINA: We Need To Go. Now.   
ALI: Where?   
TINA: He's Sending Me Directions.   
TINA: He Says We Have No Time.   
ALI: Let's go.

He gathers Celeste up in your arms, and tries to lift her. But you guess he's still recovering from the ghost's attacks. He can't summon the strength.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Little help?   
TINA: Here.

You lift one of your wands again, and a hammock rises from underneath Celeste. You twitch your instrument and she rises into the air, comfortably borne along.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Don't suppose you could Whip one of those up for Me?   
TINA: Dream On.   
TINA: Get In.

Ali climbs in without complaint, and you drift Celeste into his lap, while you settle yourself into the driver's seat. You sheathe your Needlewands and with a gesture, flick the scryOrb across to Ali. 

Dialoglog:

TINA: Congratulations.   
ALI: Why?   
TINA: You Just Got Promoted To Navigator.   
TINA: Keep Us On Track.   
TINA: Celeste's Life Depends On It.   
TINA: No Pressure Though.   
ALI: No pressure?   
TINA: Hey, I'm The One Who Has To Drive, You Can Take A Piece Of The Pressure Pie, And Like It!   
ALI: Pressure pie?   
TINA: Just Tell Me Where I Need To Go.

The hovership takes a while to rev up. The engine, or whatever it is that makes this thing go, is not sounding any happier. You just need it to hold together long enough to get Celeste the help she needs. The idea of her being beyond healing is not one that sits comfortably in your mind, and there's a small part of you screaming warnings about playing directly into Whobes' hands by delivering the defenseless Celeste and a heavily battered Page and Seer on demand. But then again, you can't just give into your paranoia and watch Celeste die. Not ever. Especially not like this.


	26. Skybound Skirmish

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which an old friend isn't quite finished with Tina, and Ali receives a crash course in co-piloting.

You judder into the air, and take a wide loop, checking your surroundings for any sign of reprisal from the ghost ship. None appear to be forthcoming. Ali is poring over the scryOrb and the remaining functional navigational instruments.

Dialoglog:

TINA: Where Are We Going?  
ALI: Give me a Second...  
TINA: Where Are We Going, Ali?!  
ALI: North-northwest!  
TINA: The Fuck Is North-Northwest?  
ALI: Northwest with a Side of North.  
TINA: And Where Is That Supposed To Be?  
ALI: If you could Keep the Goddamn Ship Steady for half a second I could Tell you!  
ALI: ...That way.   
TINA: That Way?  
ALI: Yes, move it!

You slam the ship into full thrust, and correct your roll. The hovership seems to be ticking along well enough, although you don't think it will stand up to much more of this punishing treatment. And neither, you think, will the unconscious Celeste, still drawing shallow, rasping breaths.

Dialoglog:

ALI: We have Another Problem.  
TINA: Oh, What Now?  
ALI: Whobes says we've got Hostiles Inbound.  
TINA: Oh, Seriously?  
TINA: Why Can't He Deal With Them?  
ALI: He says he's doing What He Can.  
TINA: Yeah, I'll Bet.  
TINA: OK. Fuck. Help Me Find The Airdrop Hatch Button Thingie.  
ALI: The what?  
TINA: We Need To Open Up The Hatches In The Transport Section Of The Ship So I Have A Clear Shot At Incoming Hostiles.  
ALI: Wait, what?  
ALI: Why you?  
TINA: Oh, I'm Sorry. Did You Want To Stand There And Shake Your Mace At Them?  
ALI: What am I Supposed to Do?  
TINA: Just Make Sure We Don't Get Rammed.  
TINA: And Stay In Touch With Whobes.  
TINA: Ah, Found It!

You flick a switch, and you can hear the gates at the back of the ship start to open up. The air whipping through the ship is howling, and you suddenly become unsure about the safety of venturing out there while the ship is at full speed. But you know you don't really have a choice. You draw the Octarine Needlewands and bite down hard on your trepidation.

TINA: You Need To Open The Hatch To The Rearsection For Me.  
TINA: So That I Can Lash Myself To The Bulkhead And Not Get Sucked Out.  
TINA: Quickly, Before We Run Into The Dersians.  
ALI: So your plan is to tie yourself to the ship and try and blast any Pursuers with your Yarn Magic?  
TINA: Considering Your Plan Appears To Be 'Cover Your Head And Hope They Don't Notice Us' I Think You Should Give Mine The Benefit Of The Doubt.  
ALI: ...Fine.

He inches over to the rear cockpit hatch, and heaves at it until it bursts open, the change in windspeed nearly knocking you off your feet. You hold fast, though, one hand wrapped around the cockpit chair, and point at the central bulkhead with your second, shooting out a servicable grappling hook, which winds around it in a pleasingly solid manner. You wrap the other end around your wrist a few times, until you're confident it's not going to come loose, and then you hop out into the transport bay.

The wind roars at you, catching at your skirts, your sleeves, your hair-- you are glad it is cropped short so you can see. It's strong; you're sure without the Needlewand's thread tying you to the ship you'd have lost your balance and fallen out by now. With the rear hatches open, you have fairly decent peripheral vision of the sky-- and that's all there is, of course. Sky. In the far distance you can see the masts of the ever-still boats of the Land. You wonder how they came to be so still.

There! A Dersian hovership, similar to yours, hoving into view off the starboard side. Unlike yours, it's not leaving a stream of thick grey smoke behind it. You guess that means it's less damaged and faster than yours.  
"Incoming!" you howl over your shoulder. You don't think Ali heard you. Hell, you barely heard you. Looks like you'll need to take care of this yourself.  
You take aim, and fire a net-veil out in the ship's trajectory. It tries to dive under it, but the lowest links of the net brush its hull, and the whole thing discharges through the ship, engines dying, the whole thing plummeting down slowly at first, before quickly dropping out of sight.

You swing round to watch out of the other side. Shit. It's as you thought-- that first ship was a decoy. Now three are bearing down on you on the port side. Ali pries open the cockpit hatch.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Who the Hell is the Dapper Delegate?  
TINA: What?  
ALI: Who is the Dapper Delegate?  
ALI: He's on the Radio!  
ALI: Something about Making You Pay!  
TINA: Me?  
ALI: He knows your Name!  
TINA: Fuck!  
TINA: OK! Evasive Manoeuvres!  
ALI: Evasive manoeuvres? I can't even do Standard Manoeuvres in this Thing!  
TINA: Just Do It! I'll Deal With Them!

He heaves the hatch closed again, and the craft lurches starboard, rolling as it does. You brace yourself against the bulkhead and pray the idiot manages to correct the roll in time. The enemy ships are closing, even with Ali's attempts to steer clear. They're just too fast. Or this tub is too slow. Either way. You decide to at least lay down some covering fire while you're tumbling around, since you can't aim with any kind of precision.  
You send off a barrage of yarn balls, none of which, predictably, connect, but do serve to get the pursuing ships to fan out a little. Thank heaven for small mercies. The roll doesn't seem to be stopping any time soon, though. You send out another strand which wraps around the cockpit hatch, and yank it open.

Dialoglog:

TINA: I Said Evasive Manoeuvres, Not Do A Barrel Roll!  
ALI: Barrel rolls Are evasive manoeuvres!  
TINA: I Can't Shoot Straight!  
ALI: What?  
TINA: I Can't Shoot Straight!  
ALI: Fine!

The ship rights itself, and your head stops spinning long enough for you to get a bead on the Dersians closing on you. They've encircled you now. One has managed to lap round to starboard, and is coming in low-- to ram, you'd assume.  
You bombard it with everything you can throw, until it peels off, smoking and sputtering, the hull shot through like swiss cheese. So too, evidently, were the boarding party, now leaking out through the rents in the transport bay in crystalline chunks of Tar and Build Grist.  
The two approaching from the other side have split, and you launch another barrage at the one you can see, about twenty yards below and rising. It weaves through most of it, though, and weathers what you have remaining. You have a horrible suspicion about where the other one is, and lash together a couple of nets to cover the open flanks of the bay. Not a moment too soon. A pair of legs swing in from topside, and though they kick through the hastily assembled traps, it is not without exacting a considerable toll, and extracting a particularly vile and heartfelt stream of curses. 

The smoking, bedraggled form of the Delegate stands before you, carapace face twisted in inhuman fury. You cling to the bulkhead, and lash a wild, desperate bolt at him, but even in this confined space, with the air tearing at him, he slips forward below it, and swats the wand out of your hands with his spear. With a gasp, you roll behind the great column as his next thrust goes straight through the space your head was very recently occupying. You cut loose with your remaining wand, and topple backwards, flinging cat's cradles out as fast as you can swing the wand. You get about three out before your skull meets metal, and your eyes screw shut in pain. When you open them again, you can barely see, through the bleariness, the Delegate. He's picking through your defenses with deliberate care, having discarded the spear. You don't think that's going to work out any better for you, though. You bring your shaking hand up for another attack, but he rips off the squid hat that has, miraculously, endured through all the rest of this and hurls it at you, knocking your hand aside long enough for him to seize you by the wrist. His carapace is stone-cold, you realise, as the smooth fingers tighten on you. Smooth and strong. He pulls you up without effort, his lean, tall frame overpowering yours, easily.  
You can see what pass for lips on that hideous segmented visage part, to issue some cruel final taunt.

You ram a Colourweaver into his eye.

He tumbles back, howling, hands covering his face. You whip up your remaining Needlewand and flick out a noose around his neck. It tightens as much as it is able around the hard chitin. With a huge effort, you sling the noose, Delegate and all, out of the transport bay into the great blue yonder, before collapsing to the floor, exhausted.

Ali throws the cockpit hatch open again.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Everything OK back Here?  
ALI: Christ, what Happened?

You point at the spear, too drained to speak.

ALI: Get back in the Cockpit. Rest.  
ALI: Whobes says we're Arriving Soon.  
ALI: Thanks for Keeping them off my Back...

He can't reach over to help you up without risking being sucked out of the ship. You grasp for a Needlewand, and wrap a benign strand around his arm, which he uses to tug you upright, bracing himself on the hatch. You stagger back into the cockpit, and collapse gratefully into the pilot's chair. Ali looks like he's about to complain, for a moment, but after a Look he decides to work around you, while you recuperate and take stock.  
You're down one Colourweaver, and one of your Octarine Needlewands tumbled out of the ship during the duel, but you're otherwise in decent shape. Your head is sore, but you count yourself lucky that's the gravest injury you got from going up against three hoverships and a Dersian assassin.  
The loss of the Needlewand is more of a concern to you, but alongside Ali you hope you'll be alright until you can get to an Alchemiter. You're not about to start heaping praise, but you're pretty glad he took that ghost's psychic assault on his big dumb chin. You don't ever want to feel quite so awful ever again.  
He's still keeping you on course, more or less, touching base with Whobes occasionally as he flies. He is not the most intuitive of hovership pilots, but he manages to bring her round when you spy a small floating island, swaddled in wisps of cloud.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Whoa.  
ALI: Are you Seeing This, Tina?  
ALI: It's beautiful...

You can, of course. In particular you can see four spires rising up in the centre of the island, atop some kind of stone plinth. A figure is standing by it. Must be Whobes. You're still not convinced about this plan. Neither is Ali, you think. But you can also see Celeste as well, the painful rattling of every feeble breath she draws. This is the way it has to be.


	27. Saviours of the Poisoned Princess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Whobes makes up for lost...time. *shades*
> 
> Also, things come to a head and difficult decisions must be made in order to save the heroes' friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And so finally, we approach the end of this Volume. There is one more chapter left, a kind of bookend, if you will. Which should come with at least a couple of the character portraits I've been procrastinating over. Goddamn I hate digital colouring. If you made it this far, thank you for persevering. I really had very little idea of what I was doing or where this story was going when I started, but things have been working out in my head and I hope things make at least *some* sense.

Ali drops the hovership down as close as he can. The island is surfaced with stone, although even from the ship you can see parts where plants have found purchase, clumps of grass and even a couple of spindly trees, their shallow roots faring poorly.  
You punch the cockpit screen release button, and clamber out as Ali gathers Celeste up. Whobes is waiting for you. He looks very different. You suppose you all do, considering. But Whobes is wearing more or less full plate armour on his upper body, with a long brown duster draped over it. There is a rifle of sorts strapped to his back-- looks like someone pulled it out of Star Wars-- and typical for Whobes, he's festooned with other weapons. Pistols, knives, what looks suspiciously like a swordcane, and in his hand, a magnificent blunderbuss. He's acquired a pair of half-moon sunglasses, which look rather odd juxtaposed against the armour, but then you suppose your jack must not go terribly well with the Thai hill tribe skirt you're sporting.  
With his free hand, he's holding an open pocket-watch, which his eyes skip to occasionally.

DIALOGLOG:

WHOBES: glad you could make it.   
WHOBES: hey ali. do you need a hand with her?  
ALI: Wouldn't say No.  
ALI: Where are we Taking her, Anyway?  
WHOBES: to her quest bed. this way.

Whobes shoulders Celeste on her left and together you tramp up the slight slope to the plinth at the centre. Whobes seems to be watching the spires as if waiting for something.

DIALOGLOG:

TINA: Sooooo...  
WHOBES: what's a quest bed?  
WHOBES: kind of difficult to explain.  
WHOBES: it'll save her though. trust me.  
ALI: Seems like we've been doing Very Little Else.  
ALI: It's not Served us Terribly Well so far.  
WHOBES: that's fair. i suppose.  
WHOBES: but seriously, things will start making more sense really soon.  
WHOBES: please just bear with me.

You and Ali exchange another Meaningful Look. You keep your hand on your Colourweaver, ready to draw your Needlewand at a moment's notice. Ali seems to be on the same page, judging by the way he shifts his weight to free up his left arm a little more.

DIALOGLOG:

WHOBES: yeah, i don't blame you for being a little edgy.  
WHOBES: seriously though, just give me this chance and i promise if anything goes wrong, you can do what you like to me.  
ALI: Jesus, Jake. Don't Talk like That.  
WHOBES: like what?  
WHOBES: you're thinking it, aren't you?  
ALI: Thinking what?  
WHOBES: it's fine. you know, i think if i was in your situation i'd be feeling exactly the same way.  
ALI: Um, thanks?  
WHOBES: you're welcome.

You reach the plinth. It really does resemble more of a bed, when you get up close. There's a sort of indigo spiral pattern embossed on it, like some strange minimalist bedspread, and the spires rise up around it like a shamelessly ostentatious four-poster. 

DIALOGLOG:

WHOBES: ok, now help me lay her out on it.  
ALI: Uh...  
ALI: Why are we Depositing her on a Sacrificial Stone?  
WHOBES: it's not a sacrificial stone.  
WHOBES: well, not really.  
WHOBES: it's more of an apotheosis stone.  
TINA: OK, Now You're Being Deliberately Vague.  
WHOBES: that's true.  
WHOBES: come on, ali!

Ali looks to you, and you shrug. By this point you pretty much have no objections to make that haven't already been made in triplicate. But Whobes seems perfectly understanding about all of them. He did say you could hold him responsible if this didn't help Celeste.  
Ali helps Whobes lift her onto the stone. She lolls there, sad, grey, drawing the shallowest of breaths.

DIALOGLOG:

WHOBES: ok guys, time for a metaphysics lesson.  
WHOBES: remember waking up on derse?  
TINA: Oh Dear.  
ALI: Huh?  
WHOBES: the purple land where you were wearing the funny pyjamas?  
ALI: Kind of...  
TINA: What Does This Have To Do With Anything?  
WHOBES: that's your extra life, that is.  
WHOBES: celeste was safe and sound on prospit.  
WHOBES: but now her real self is dying.  
WHOBES: and her dream self on prospit is suffering too.  
TINA: How?  
WHOBES: dream selves are tied to their real selves.  
WHOBES: it's a whole thing.  
WHOBES: basically, if we kill celeste now, we can save her the pain of succumbing to this horrible poison.  
ALI: Are you Out of your Mind?  
ALI: I'm not Killing one of my Best Friends!  
WHOBES: she's going to die either way.  
WHOBES: you can be cruel or you can be kind about it.  
ALI: That's Not the Point!  
WHOBES: are you sure?  
WHOBES: don't you think she would do the same for you if it were you suffering?  
ALI: I'd hope she would have the Decency to Ask First!  
WHOBES: except she can't ask.  
TINA: Which Seems Terribly Convenient From Your Perspective.  
WHOBES: look, you don't trust me, and i understand why, but we can't save celeste any other way.  
WHOBES: i don't actually know how she'll come back if we just let her succumb to this poison naturally.  
WHOBES: but i'm sure she'd rather not find out.  
ALI: ...We only have Your Word she's Poisoned.  
WHOBES: does she look like someone who's not been poisoned, to you?  
WHOBES: that's not a trick question.  
WHOBES: does she actually appear healthy and not slowly and painfully dying to you?

It appears that you don't really have a choice. It sounds vile, even in your head, but you can't save her. All you can do is limit her suffering. If something untoward happens because of her place on the altar-- well, you'll have to live with yourself. But the choice of living with yourself for doing nothing while your friend died-- that is altogether less palatable.

Dialoglog:

TINA: Fine. I'll Do It.  
ALI: Tina!  
TINA: Leave It, Ali.  
TINA: We Don't Have A Choice.  
WHOBES: and we're almost out of time.  
ALI: I won't Let you Touch her!  
WHOBES: you will.

The great mace drops into his hands once more, and he takes a couple of steps back, retreating towards the altar.

Dialoglog:

: Stay back! I don't want to Have to Hurt you!  
WHOBES: i don't want that either.

Whobes takes your arm, and leans into you.  
 **"Trust me. This will go a lot quicker and less painfully my way."**  
You have barely nodded your assent when the world blurs. You blink, and by the time everything comes back into proper focus, you're standing next to Celeste on the other side of the altar.  
 **"OK,"** he whispers again, and guides your hand to her cheek.  
Your hand trembles, but you produce your remaining wand from your sylladex and touch it to Celeste's chest, barely moving at all now. It is difficult to lay it with precision over her heart. Your hand is trembling too much.  
 **"NO!"**  
You hear Ali howl, having realised Whobes' trick. In the corner of your eye you can see him charging towards the altar, to stop you. In that same corner of your eye, you see a blur, and then Whobes, standing behind him, holding him fast with all his might. You steel yourself, and force up a sense of pique at the circumstances that have led to you sacrificing one of your last remaining friends as the least worst of options.  
She is stricken by an octarine lance of energy that sears through armour and flesh in an instant. The backwash of the energy staggers you back. At least that's what you tell yourself, as you fall onto your backside, dropping your weapon and covering your face as your eyes prickle like fire.

Ali wrenches himself free from Whobes and launches himself at Celeste, taking her up in his arms. Whobes just stands, and looks up.

Dialoglog:  
ALI: What did you Do?  
ALI: WHAT DID YOU DO?

You can't bring yourself to answer. To weather the fury in every line of his face.  
Luckily, you don't have to. Before he can do anything, the sky is set ablaze with white light. The spires of the altar are burning, bright as the sun, painful to look at. As you shade your eyes, and Ali staggers back covering his, you can see swarms and swarms of flies descending from the sky. They're converging on the altar, many of them landing on the slab, or Celeste herself. Ali looks up, and backs away as the insects continue to descend, coming to rest on Celeste's body, nestled upon her face, her corset, her trousers. Above the clouds of flies, there is pulsing in the sky a gigantic blue symbol-- a spiral-- like some swirling plughole in space. Your eyes drop down from this at the same time his do, and you stare at each other, amazed and bewildered at the sights around you. The glow now is settling around Celeste as well, bathing her in the strange blue light and pulsing, filling up even the gaping wound in her chest with iridescence.

Whobes approaches, to stand beside Ali and watch the light show. For the first time since you caught up with him, he actually seems to have some sense of surprise and wonder about him. He's staring up at the spiral above the altar, mouth hanging slightly open as if he's a child again, watching fireworks on Bonfire Night.

And then, as abruptly as it started, it ends. The swarm of flies rises off the body and disperses, and the sky-sigil fades to nothing. The sky is left as plain and featureless as before. Ali is the first to move, grabbing Whobes by the gorget and bringing his mace out once more, the spikes jutting uncomfortably around his throat. Whobes takes the manhandling with an almost weary acceptance.

Dialoglog:

ALI: Alright. Spill. What the Fuck was that.  
WHOBES: well, i'm not 100% sure on that myself.  
ALI: Isn't that a First.  
WHOBES: but i'm pretty sure that's exactly how a god tier ascension's supposed to go off.  
ALI: A what?  
WHOBES: a god tier ascension. i tried to explain it before, but i suppose you had a lot to think about.  
ALI: So is Celeste Dead or not?  
WHOBES: not, i should hope.  
TINA: If She's Not Dead, Where Is She?  
WHOBES: um, well, usually when you die and are resurrected, you revive where your dreamself last was.  
WHOBES: which would be prospit, for celeste.  
WHOBES: god tiering might well be different though.  
ALI: What do you Mean when you say God Tiering?  
WHOBES: uh.  
WHOBES: again, i'm only going off what i managed to glean from the prospitian archives...  
WHOBES: but pretty much, celeste is now stronger than the rest of us put together.  
WHOBES: she'll be able to attain complete mastery of her element.  
WHOBES: also? pretty much immortal now.  
TINA: Wow.  
ALI: Mastery of her Element? What's that, Then?  
TINA: Void.  
ALI: Void?  
WHOBES: yep.  
ALI: What's that Mean?  
TINA: I Guess It's The Opposite Of Space.  
WHOBES: more or less.  
ALI: So Celeste's the Master of the Opposite of Space?  
WHOBES: not yet.  
WHOBES: well, she will be.  
WHOBES: ascending through the god tiers themselves will probably require a lot more legwork than normal echeladder rungs.  
WHOBES: and to be honest i don't think she'd made that much progress on unlocking her elemental powers before she came up against the ghost ship.  
WHOBES: which is kind of a pity.  
WHOBES: 'cos it probably would've made things a lot easier for everyone.  
TINA: Your Element's Time, Isn't It.  
WHOBES: ssh. it's a secret.  
WHOBES: well, not really.  
WHOBES: you're right, it is.  
WHOBES: but i'm kind of cheating. i'm not contemporaneous whobes here.  
WHOBES: i came back from the future to fix this problem for us.  
WHOBES: or rather, i had to come back because i'd already fixed this problem for us.  
WHOBES: time travel's funny like that.  
ALI: So you can Control Time?  
WHOBES: eeeeeeh...  
WHOBES: control implies a lot more finesse than i've got, to be honest.  
WHOBES: i can manipulate it a bit, jump back and forth, speed myself up or slow down objects that are about to interact with me.  
WHOBES: and a few more bells and whistles.  
WHOBES: time's really a massive pain in the balls though.  
WHOBES: so much running round being coy and withholding information until the right time.  
WHOBES: trying desperately to avoid paradoxes, bending the rules as much as i can to try and cheat as much leeway for everyone without accidentally creating any doomed timelines.  
WHOBES: since every one of those means another dead whobes. plus you three.  
ALI: Christ.  
WHOBES: yeah, it's pretty much a horrible clusterfuck.  
TINA: Why've You Been Struggling Like This By Yourself?  
WHOBES: well, the way i figure it, the more people that know about what i'm trying to do, the harder it is to do it.  
WHOBES: i have to keep this under my hat. if my past self knows too much about the way ahead, about the things he'll eventually do, he'll get complacent. complacency leads to doomed timelines.  
WHOBES: the reason i've been sticking to the shadows is because it's safer for everyone that way.  
WHOBES: i know it will work out for the best. because if it didn't, i'd probably have to come back and fix it.  
TINA: Whobes, You Shouldn't Have To Do This.  
TINA: We're Your Friends, We Can Help.  
ALI: ...We Want to help.  
WHOBES: i know, guys.  
WHOBES: it's not the first time i've had this conversation, believe me.  
WHOBES: this is safest for everyone though.  
WHOBES: i took a big risk coming out to you like this.  
WHOBES: i wouldn't have done it if it weren't for celeste being in that much trouble.  
ALI: So, now we Know, what does that Mean?  
WHOBES: well, first of all, you can't tell past me under any circumstances.  
WHOBES: he's putting the pieces together himself. any interference with that could throw the whole timeline off the rails.  
WHOBES: and then we all have a couple of deaths to look forward to.  
TINA: Even Celeste?  
WHOBES: especially celeste.  
TINA: But You Said She Was Immortal Now.  
WHOBES: i said pretty much immortal.  
WHOBES: paradox space has its ways and means of making sure that doomed timelines snuff themselves out quickly enough.  
WHOBES: as a god of void she might last a little longer than us...  
WHOBES: but she won't be able to hide forever.  
ALI: Wait, I don't Understand. Where did you get all this Information?  
WHOBES: i told you. the prospitian archives.  
WHOBES: tina, you were right before. i woke up on prospit before the game even started.  
WHOBES: actually, it was a couple of weeks before.  
WHOBES: but i started to figure out what was going on, and i spoke to the white queen.  
ALI: There's a White Queen?  
WHOBES: of course.  
WHOBES: she realised it was very important that i get as much of an edge as possible before we started the session.  
WHOBES: so she gave me access to the archives. i've been reading all about the game and how it works.  
WHOBES: most of it is couched in purple prose prophecy, or dry historical memoirs, but i've been able to build up a picture of what's going on, between prospit and derse at least.  
WHOBES: things are a little woolier when it comes to the whys and wherefores about this game even existing, and stuff about our individual lands.  
WHOBES: it's why i had to come down and set up some stable time loops running ragged over this land until i found celeste's quest bed.  
WHOBES: and i fucking hate time loops.  
WHOBES: oh, speaking of, we're going to need to skedaddle pretty soon. i'm about to find this place for the first time.  
ALI: So?  
WHOBES: so... the first time i found this place, no-one else was here.  
WHOBES: if you guys stay then you cause a temporal paradox.  
WHOBES: guess what that leads to?  
WHOBES: it rhymes with 'toomed dimeline'.  
WHOBES: you'll need to take celeste's body as well. and her sylladex contents.  
WHOBES: wasn't here the first time.  
ALI: Christ. This Timeline stuff's giving me a Headache.  
WHOBES: yeah, you begin to see why stable time loops suck such magnificently rotund balls.  
WHOBES: now, go!  
TINA: Aren't You Coming With Us, Whobes?  
WHOBES: no can do. i need to time out back to my land.  
WHOBES: get some shuteye, check up on celeste if she's still on prospit.  
WHOBES: the prophecies are a little vague on where she actually ends up.  
WHOBES: she might be on the battlefield.  
TINA: What's The Battlefield?  
WHOBES: no time. get going, you guys!  
ALI: Wait! Where do we Go from Here?  
WHOBES: oh, for... it doesn't matter. just get going. i'll be in touch.  
ALI: Oh. OK.  
WHOBES: go!

 

You dash over to Celeste's body, the flies scattering in a cloud. Her Sylladex has indeed emptied, captchalogue cards scattered across the Quest Bed and the ground surrounding it. Several of them are stained with the blood from the chest wound you inflicted on her, and you wince as you collect these. Even knowing she's still alive, you're not comfortable with the knowledge of having shot a bolt of pure magic through your friend's heart.  
Ali still hasn't quite forgiven you, from the way he picks Celeste up without a word to you, cradling her in his arms with only a little difficulty (she shed the corset when she died, but not the undershirt or her trousers. Nevertheless, you both pause on your way back to the hovership, as Whobes begins to wind his fob watch, and is sucked into it, disappearing with a blast of white light. The watch stays suspended in space a moment, turning over in mid-air a few times before that too is enveloped in a flash and vanishes from sight. Your eyes meet Ali's for a moment, and he seems to give the very merest of shrugs before continuing on with his burden. Or perhaps he was just shifting the weight of the body.

You nudge the ship into life and take her up on a level bearing away from the island, then watch, from the cockpit, while he finishes depositing Celeste in the transport section, laying her out as reverently as possible, hands folded over her chest. He doesn't stand when he's done. He just kneels by her, his hand on hers.

Dialoglog:

ALI: I've had Enough of this Game.  
ALI: I want Out.  
TINA: I Know, Ali.  
ALI: Would you do it for Me?  
ALI: If I were Dying like that?  
ALI: Put me down like a Dog?  
TINA: Ali...  
ALI: Would you?  
TINA: Yes. Of Course.  
TINA: I'd Do It For All Of Us.  
TINA: If It Was The Right Thing To Do.  
ALI: The Right Thing to...  
ALI: Fucking Hell, Tina!  
ALI: We're down from Seven Billion of us to Four, and you Want to start Killing the ones we have Left?  
TINA: She Was In Pain, Ali.  
ALI: Don't talk to me about Pain, Trappsen.  
ALI: Don't you Fucking Dare.  
ALI: Not after Everything I went through Saving her.  
TINA: I Was There, Dammit!  
ALI: Don't worry, I Remember.  
TINA: I Had To Do It! Whobes Said--  
ALI: Whobes is Running on Guesswork and Wishful Thinking!  
ALI: Just like he Always has Done. You saw him Back There.  
ALI: Except now he's Playing with our Goddamn Lives.  
ALI: And you're Dancing to his Tune like his Hand's up your Arse.  
TINA: What Else Would You Have Me Do, Alistair?  
TINA: You Don't Know What's Going On Here Any More Than I Do.  
TINA: You Think I'm Not Sick And Tired And Scared?  
TINA: We Both Did What Whobes Told Us Because He Sounded Like He Knew What He Was Talking About.  
TINA: So Don't Put This All On Me.  
ALI: Yeah, Whobes and his Prospit and his Precious Queen who doesn't want his head on a Fucking Pike.  
ALI: I'll tell you Something. If I wake up on Derse I'm going Straight to Prospit to see what the Fuck is going on over There.  
ALI: I haven't seen a Single Goddamn Prospit Guy since I started this game.  
ALI: Are they even Out Here?  
TINA: I Think So. The Chancellor Said They Had Agents On My Land.  
ALI: Why aren't they Talking to You, then?  
ALI: Aren't we All Trying to Stop Derse?  
ALI: Is that even what we're Trying to Do?  
ALI: I can Barely Fucking Keep all this Together in my Head.  
TINA: We Should Go And Talk To Jarethsprite.  
ALI: I thought he was Dead.  
TINA: Dying. He Might Still Be Hanging On.  
ALI: Isn't there Anything we can do for Him?  
TINA: I Really Don't Know. He Probably Would've Mentioned If There Was.  
TINA: But If We Are Too Late We Should Go Back To My Land.  
TINA: I Need To Rescue A Friend Of Mine.  
ALI: Wait, what?  
ALI: The Entire Consort Population of my Land bar like four dozen has been Enslaved by a Race of Demonic Shapeshifters. I Think that Should be our Priority.  
TINA: I Left Chikster Behind Because I Thought She'd Be Safe, But The High Chancellor Betrayed Me. I Need To Save Her.

You hope that she's still alive to be saved, although you really have no clue at all as to whether that butler gecko didn't just snap her neck the moment you were out of sight. You know you'll never be able to forgive yourself if you don't at least try, though.

Dialoglog:

ALI: I need to Keep my Promise to my Consorts. All of Them.  
TINA: Is It Urgent?  
ALI: Yes!  
TINA: Is It As Urgent?  
ALI: I don't know. They could be under Attack by the Entire Mass of the Djinn Army as we Speak.  
TINA: Well, If They Are, There's Not A Lot You'd Be Able To Do If You Were There.  
ALI: That's not the Point! I gave them my Word.  
TINA: And I Gave Chikster Mine! It's My Fault She Got Dragged Into This, Anyway.  
ALI: ...  
TINA: She's Only One Gecko. We Can Save Her And Then Help Your Geckoes Out.  
ALI: They're Salamanders.  
TINA: Sorry. Your Salamanders.  
ALI: ...Fucking Hell.  
ALI: Where's your Friend, then.  
TINA: Thank You, Ali!  
TINA: So Much!  
ALI: Yeah, alright. I'm holding you to the other part though. Even if you Die and turn into some sort of Weird Fairy God Princess Witch Thing.  
TINA: If I Do I Should Be Even Better At Helping Your Friends.  
TINA: If Whobes Is Telling The Truth.  
ALI: Yeah, If.  
ALI: So, this Gecko...  
TINA: Right. She Was Seriously Wounded From A Battle. I Had To Leave Her At The High Chancellor's Chalet When She Called The Delegate And His Mook To Come And Kill Me.  
TINA: I Don't Think They'll Have Had Enough Time To Move Her Anywhere Terribly Far Away By Now.  
ALI: Let's hope.  
TINA: Let's.

You move into the cockpit, and assume the controls. Ali's got the Atlas Celestia in hand, and you set a course for Celeste's house-boat base. You should be able to re-equip and stock up on Vitality Gel there, before you depart on your rescue missions. You don't know whether Chikster will be alive when you reach her. But you've just saved one friend. After the day you've had, you think you're owed a pretty big streak of good luck.


	28. Epilogue

JW: hey  
JW: i know you're there  
JW: fine. stay quiet.  
JW: makes it easier for me.  
JW: looks like your plan didn't work.  
JW: celeste's good as new. better than, actually.  
Whatever do you mean.  
JW: oh man, playing dumb!  
JW: this is just the best game.  
JW: where my future self leaves me hints about the bullshit you attempt to perpetuate on us and present me gets tired of you pretending not to know.  
You're rambling again.  
JW: i am not a rambler. i am a poet.  
You are boring me.   
And for the record, you are wrong.  
JW: this ought to be good.  
My 'plan', if that is what you believe I was engaging in, was not to kill Celeste.  
JW: pretty sure you were trying to get her killed.  
Quite the opposite.  
JW: whatever.  
JW: you're not fooling anyone.  
Why would I need to do that?  
It seems you are all quite capable of making fools of yourselves without any interference from me.  
JW: i suppose if you were in our situation you'd be doing so much better.  
Yes.  
But then, I have had much longer than you to hone my powers of logical reasoning and problem solving.  
Not to mention my natural advantages would weigh things heavily in my favour.  
JW: if you're so shit hot why don't you play the game?  
JW: you could have led us through it.  
JW: you could have led everyone through it. all seven billion jack of us.  
A tempting thought. And one which I am likely to have succumbed to on some timeline somewhere.  
No. You four, and just you four, were always destined to be the players.  
JW: that's really cute and everything, but...  
It's true.  
JW: no, it's more prospit mythos junk.  
It can be both.  
Or all three.  
Jake, you don't seem to understand exactly how your role in all this works.  
JW: but i'm sure you're about to enlighten me.  
The game was only ever intended to be played by you four.  
This much was decided by the boundless and inscrutable workings of paradox space.  
You can rail against me all you please about the unfairness of it all. About the horrible slaughter of your friends and families.  
But they could not be saved.  
JW: you never. fucking. tried.  
I can assure you that I have done.  
In multiple other timelines.  
And in every one of those, every timeline in which I tried to spare Earth pain, another iteration of those I rescued were slain.  
Paradox space cutting off its loose ends. Snuffing out doomed timelines.  
Sad stubs of alternate universes drifting in a forgotten corner of the Great Pondsquatter's unspeakable mass.  
If I seem callous, it is because I know there is only one way to do things.  
This way.  
I am being cruel to be kind.  
JW: you are playing with us.  
JW: and i am going to stop you.  
Are you going to deny that Celeste is stronger now?  
That my influence has nudged her towards God Tier?  
JW: and i suppose the trauma she went through getting it was supposed to be  
JW: what?  
JW: character building?  
JW: you are a piece of work, do you know that?  
It's been said.  
Do you think I wanted it to work this way?  
Do you really believe that I would have chosen you four, from all the countries on the planet? After everything your people have done to me?  
JW: so you're putting us through the wringer because you had your nose put out of joint before. excuse me if that doesn't abate my anger any.  
I doubt you will be able to do anything.  
Death is something that has never come easily to me in the past.  
And how you have tried.  
JW: sins of the father, is it?  
You could say.  
I have been grievously abused by your ancestors repeatedly, when all I intended was for you to reach a state in which you could complete the purpose this planet exists for.  
JW: which is what, exactly?  
Which is for you to discover in your own time.  
JW: and what exactly have we done to you? what ancestors are you talking about?  
See how quickly you go from petulant defiance and name-calling to fawning for the titbits of knowledge I let tumble from my fingertips. Like breadcrumbs in a park.  
Quack.  
JW: fine, don't tell me then. it's not like your mouldy nuggets have served any practical use, like, ever.  
JW: my consorts have made more of a contribution to our quest.  
JW: and they can't even breathe out of water!  
So quick to dismiss me on your incomplete intelligence. Not that that's new.  
JW: ooh. sick burn.  
Ha.  
JW: what now?  
Nothing. Funny you should say that is all.  
Considering.  
JW: you know, i've had about all i can take of your bullshit.  
JW: you sneer and snipe and undermine us  
JW: insist on your moral high ground despite being complicit in the death of seven billion people  
JW: and you happily admit to manipulating one of my best friends into getting herself killed.  
JW: how fucking dare you.  
I anticipated you would be angry.  
JW: did you now  
JW: grandma, what remarkable prescience you have  
I won't try and change your mind.  
JW: did you know why?  
JW: oh i see  
JW: when it comes right down to it, you don't have the guts to face the consequences of your actions.  
JW: you think you can just lead a woman to her death and wash your hands of it.  
JW: well you're wrong  
JW: i will find you before this game is over.  
JW: and you'd better hope i'm not in a mood to draw it out.  
JW: because you know i could make it last millenia.  
JW: eons, even.  
JW: i could lock you in your own personal time-continuum of pain.  
JW: nothing to say?  
JW: guess fatuous claims of omniscience don't stand up terribly well against actual power over time.  
JW: chalk another one up for the rogue.

You are the Maid of Void. And...you have no idea where you are. Some kind of giant chessboard land? And what's with the weird outfit, anyway? You don't remember going to sleep in it. Actually, you don't remember very much of anything. There were the lizards on the flying boat...but it all seems like a faraway dream now. Except-- this doesn't look like any bed you've ever slept on before. What's going on here? And who's the girl in the grey dress? 

Hello, Mother.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, it took me long enough, but I finally sat down and uploaded this. Mother. Hubbard. I hope that Volume One of Continentfettered was fun and interesting. Perhaps one day I might even write Volume Two. Perhaps.
> 
> Glad I managed to at least finish this before Hussie finished Homestuck. I'm sure, like me, you can't wait to see how it ends. Here's hoping it will be soon!
> 
> Thank you for reading, and goodnight!


End file.
